


Line of Sight

by Twerpatron



Category: Among Us (Video Game)
Genre: BS Science, Cannibalism, Canon-Typical Violence, MIRA is hiding something and so are more than just the impostors, Moral Dilemmas, Nightmares, Nonbinary Character, Not Beta Read, Other, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV Switches, Personal space issues, Romance, Slow Burn, Supernatural Elements, [REDACTED], all characters are queer unless specified, based off a public lobby match i had, characters older than 25ish, im not a scientist, impostors moreso mimics than parasites, it's gonna get ugly, pet death, smoking mention, strangers to friends to enemies to lovers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-21
Updated: 2021-03-12
Packaged: 2021-03-12 20:40:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 20,786
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28891509
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Twerpatron/pseuds/Twerpatron
Summary: Being saddled with a bodyguard mission isn't Cyan's thing, and Yellow isn't a fan either.But this research cannot fail to reach Polus. Cyan will complete his missions, and will pay any price to ensure success.No toll is too high,Until it is.
Relationships: Crewmate/Impostor (Among Us), Cyan/Yellow (Among Us), crewmate/impostor relationship
Comments: 35
Kudos: 55





	1. Surveillance

**Author's Note:**

> Heyyo! This is both my first Among Us fic and fanfic in general in like, 3 years, so please be gentle!! I haven't creatively written in general in just about the same amount of time, so dfghighsdfghsdfjg
> 
> If i feel the need to add chapter specific CW's i will do so in the beginning notes! Luckily not for the first one. Enjoy!

The mission had been a complete disaster.

It had been just as simple as every one Cyan’s ever had; get in, make as much damage to the company as possible, not get caught, come back and do it all over. But no, his partner decided to stick around after a kill for a bite instead of fleeing. Hell, a self report would’ve been less suspicious, but it’s expected when you get paired up with a newbie. He had taken his preferred passive strategy, sabotaging and letting the other one do the heavy lifting, but the idiot had gotten carried away. The end goal to sink another ship overrides sticking his neck out.

The past was the past, and Administration on HQ contained the future. The present decided to step in in the form of a well dressed agent carrying a briefcase walking with purpose straight at him.

“Cyan of Sector 8,” not a regular agent, an executive, “walk with me.”

Cyan saluted, holding his helmet with the other hand. Well this is new, he can’t remember when an executive so much as looked at him. The man didn’t wait half a beat before pivoting around and walked ahead, not checking to see if Cyan was actually following.

“You’ve been reassigned,” he begins as they take an early left and wait for the decontamination doors to lower, “HQ has recognized your talent of being able to weed out the Imposters over the years, managing not to have so many ships and bases get overrun by the enemies or have them melt to nothing. You’re going to be taking on a specific task,” the man gives a curt smile to nothing, “lucky you.”

Singular task. Not good, Cyan thought. He’d never heard of having just one task on any mission. Hell, missions where a captain was required due to the larger body count, the leader still had tasks beyond delegating crewmates.

The executive continued as they let the mist fill the room, alone.

“You’re going to be a bodyguard to the Yellow on this mission, one of MIRA’s top interstellar biologists with a background in medical science. They’ve completed top secret research that is too vital to send through our channels, despite our impeccable security. There’s more work that needs to be done, prospects still need to be made, and being without is not an option,” the doors lower, “It needs to be delivered and taught by hand at Polus’s research center. A reminder that their career with MIRA is several years your senior, show some respect.”

They both hook left into the Laboratory, several colorful researchers milling about.

“Yellow of Sector 3, a word,” his voice is level, not attempting to attract the room’s attention.

One of the two yellow suits in the room popped their head up from their tablet, face hidden by the reflective visor. Most people strolled without an attached helmet while there wasn’t an obvious building issue, but this crewmate had their attached all the same.

Cyan pieces it together- their specific identity known before an important assignment wouldn’t exactly be ideal.

“This is Researcher Yellow,” he gestures professionally, “the one you’ll be assisting for this mission.”

Cyan read Yellow’s body language as they saluted to one another. Their movement is smoother than most, a slight curve of the fingers and a lower elbow. Borderline casual. Beyond that, nothing could be read through the suit. Yellow is just an inch taller than himself, and all that looked back is his own gaze, which isn’t a whole lot to look at. Cyan elected to wear a black nose and mouth covering, even under the suit, took less effort to maintain a detailed face when you can only see a third of it. His black eyes matched the mask, and tight umber curls grace his forehead, getting longer as it collects into a loose ponytail. Its true length is hidden underneath his suit, but it reaches just past the shoulder blades. All unassuming, common, but still just a touch of style. Just because he has to blend in doesn’t mean he’ll submit to the buzzcut if possible.

“Pleasure to meet you!” Yellow spoke, an obvious smile hidden but isn’t jolly, appropriate. “I look forward to working with you,” followed by a slight nod.

Cyan is good at his job, but formalities or small talk is where he falls a bit short. He’s not the worst, but it always feels uncomfortable to perform.

“As do I, it’s an honor to meet you.” Not getting lectured by the executive was more important to him than actually trying to flatter the human, but little sacrifices must be made. The higher up doesn’t wait another moment before slapping the slender suitcase into Cyan’s free hand.

“Everything you should know about this mission, as well as some supplies, is in here. If it’s not in the files, it’s none of your business,” he turns his whole body to Cyan, “your task is your top priority, and will be completed by any means necessary. This mission cannot fail, the nature at which your career ends is not of concern to MIRA, do I make myself clear?”

Death by space, or court martialed. A rock and hard place, if that’s how he recalls the saying goes.

“Crystal.”

“Excellent. Your Skeld is ready to be boarded in approximately 30 minutes. Your assignments begin now. Good luck.” and like that, the man was gone.

The few people who attempted to eavesdrop quickly busied themselves to what’s in front of them. Yellow shifted between their feet for a moment, not totally turned to Cyan, but slowly looking around.

“Shall we be off?” he suggested. Yellow snapped their attention back to him, their thumb rubbing a pattern across the fingertips of the same hand.

“Ah, my bad, lost in thought,” they chuckled. “Yea, let’s go” Cyan let Yellow lead ever so slightly. Cyan stared at the back of the crewmates head the entire walk to the launch pad, soon distracted in thoughts of his own.

It hit him. Shit, this isn’t good. He’s expected to have a bare minimum of one human dead on each mission, no exceptions. Yellow being off limits for both attacks and blame wasn’t the issue; if he can’t be alone while the crew operates, then what’s the game plan?

His mind was starting to think of all the strategies he’s learned over the years, and nothing he’s ever known fell through the cracks. Shit, shit, shit…..

He only looked away from his assignment when he felt a pair of eyes on him. By nature he looks to meet it, being met with a visor of a new color.

His hand twitched. The gaze between them was miniscule in measure, a blink-and-you’ll-miss it sorta thing. But it was a language he knew well, and relief floods his system.

There are two Imposter’s among this crew. Cyan wasn’t totally screwed after all.


	2. The Fine Print

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> some character establishment

Blue’s professionalism flew out the window as soon as the ship reached cruising conditions.

“Holy shit guys, we’re in space!!” she yells over and over as she circles around the ship, weaving in between boxes of supplies. “This is incredible! I can’t believe we get to spend several weeks in all of this!” she gestures vaguely to the one window. Most crewmates have unbuckled at this point and have been chatting. Before Blue was just wiggling in her seat, fidgeting and drumming fingers along different surfaces.

Brown burst out laughing after observing a few of Blue’s revolutions, “First mission, yes?” Brown’s voice held weight, and had a peculiar twang to it. It was one of the hundreds of accents that Cyan has heard about humans having, but always had a rough time naming them. With humankind’s expansion, the varieties grew as well. Typically he tried to emulate whatever was common or best received on specific missions, didn’t try to stray away too far.

“Not quite, but it's my first one way out here!” Blue’s accent had a bit of an awkward swing to it. There was definitely a rhythm, but it didn’t quite match up with the flow of her sentences. Perhaps English is not her first language, he wondered.

“Don’t get your suit up in a twist, the view gets dull after you’ve been out in the field long enough.” Green piped up with his arms crossed, seated on the far side of the row. He definitely sounds much older than everyone so far, voice slightly hoarse and even lower than Brown’s.

The ship hits a bit of turbulence, which only deterred Blue’s pacing momentarily, but didn’t phase her for long.

“How can you say that! There’s more to look at than we’ll ever get to see, how can that get old?”

Green shrugs, not offering much more valuable insight. Orange, who had been shifting between poking around his tablet and looking around nervously, turned his attention to Blue.

“I-it’s my first mission, actually! I don’t really know what to say, or expect, ah…” he gathers his thoughts for a beat. “Do you, uh, have any specialties or focus? Since it’s my first time I’m just assigned random tasks, but, surely MIRA hired us for our different trades, right?” he questions with a wring of his hands.

Red gives a bark of dry laughter, “Oh yea? You think MIRA gives enough attention to assign a crew where every member does just one thing? Come on, be practical.” it was a bit harsh, but he wasn’t entirely wrong.

“Red’s got a point, but,” Yellow piped up from beside Cyan, “we all have something we were trained for more than other kinds of tasks. I’ve read up on this crew’s profile, and I gotta say, it’s quite diverse.” They pull up some documents on their own tablet. “Orange, while it seems that this is your first mission, you tend to excel in electronics, correct?” Their voice is gentle yet inquisitive, and the mention of his own name pulls Orange out of his nervous fidgets.

“Ah, yes! I originally entered the company hoping to become a communications officer, but after doing some repair jobs at HQ, they’ve decided to test my skills in installing some new tech on the Skeld we’re heading to!”

Green huffs, arms still crossed, “So you’re one of the people helping me with that?” he rolls his head back dramatically, “Don’t slow me down, I wanna get this done with as few complications as possible, and that means I won’t let a newbie blow a fuse cause he doesn’t know how to to rewire a circuit,” Orange looked like he wanted to protest, but held back, returning to his twiddles.

Brown unbuckled herself and turned as much as possible to face Yellow, “What about you? I tend to get more tasks focused around navigating ships and guiding fellow crewmates. I’m trying to get a promotion along the lines of ‘Captain’ but we all know how easy it is to get that position,” Brown rests her helmet against her fist, slowly swinging a leg. Yellow gives a nervous laugh, Cyan could practically feel their face flushing.

“Well, I was originally a biologist, but MIRA hired and trained me to be a utility on missions just like the rest of you,” They made a motion as if to scratch their face but stopped halfway, remembering their outfit. “I also have medical training and act as a stand in medic, but I’m much more interested in biology as a whole.”

Blue claps her hands and makes her way to the three, “That’s incredible! Ugh, I respect the hell outta people who’re good at biological sciences! I majored in engineering; the systems just make so much more sense to me than all that bio stuff! MIRA liked how I handled some of the crisis’ at HQ and wanna see if I can handle stuff like the machines on the Skeld! When we get to Polus, wow, I just can’t wait to get my hands on their Seismic Stabilizer’s! I’ve only looked at the blueprints so far!”

Soon enough, Blue focused on conversing with Brown and Yellow, filling the ambient noise of the tight drop ship with conversation that Cyan has heard many times before. He’s heard all this sort of thing before, and didn’t feel like contributing. What is he to say? Oh yea I’m just a typical crew member who's only supposed to really be focusing on the safety of just one of you, that’s not weird at all.

The background noise is accompanied by the drumming of his own hand along the sleek briefcase. He hasn’t had a chance to view its contents since receiving it, and now that everyone seemed distracted, now seems like a good time. A quick pop and the first thing he notices is the gun, holstered and embedded in the foam. Next to it is a manila folder thick with paper documents. Physical, not hackable, easy to destroy. He snatches to document quickly before locking the case. Turning at just the right angle as to not have an unwanted reader, he starts to flip through the papers. Most of the documents were full profiles of everyone on board. Pictures, information on each crewmate, chock full of HIPAA -esque information, education, the whole platter. His eyes flicked through everyone's profile, only absorbing what might be useful information, until at last he reached Yellow’s papers.

Their document was the most bare of them all. Despite their career’s length, their file seemed to bear the least amount of info, aside from his own, as well as the other Imposter, who seemed to only be on their fifth mission. What little was provided was mostly redacted.

“Assigned name: Yellow of Sector 3  
Legal title: [REDACTED]  
Age: 35 Earth Years  
Height and weight: 6’0”, 185 pounds

Term of employment: [REDACTED]  
Education: [REDACTED]  
History and positions with MIRA: [REDACTED]....”

And much of the document continued as such, primarily being a giant wall of blacked out text. What caught Cyan’s eye was Yellow’s headshot stapled to the top left of the page. It seemed… off. The other’s had their picture simply printed directly on their respective documents, but Yellow’s was a physical photograph.

Black hair in the standard buzzcut, brown eyes lighter than their skin were hard and focused, defined facial features, no signs of age. The quality of the photo seems lower than everyone else's. He wasn’t an expert on the human aging process, but the person in this picture didn’t seem old enough in the slightest. This couldn’t possibly be how Yellow looks now, could it?

Cyan frowned as the automated voice signaled everyone to prepare for boarding the Skeld in the distance, stuffing the papers away. There was more to read, but not now.

The picture didn’t seem up to date, the document bare, what was the point of putting that effort in at all?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thoughts and feelings always appreciated!! <3


	3. Side by Side

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's all fun n games before things go to shit

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you if you're reading this!! I hope you receive good news today! <3

The transition from idle chatter to hard work is smooth, save for Orange being a bit flighty and Blue’s general overflow of enthusiasm.

Red assists Orange and Green transporting supplies throughout the ship, most of them to storage. The Skeld’s atmosphere humming with the crew’s labor. Brown seems to be focusing on her own thing, quietly mumbling, flicking through her tablet. Cyan makes no movement that deviates from Yellow’s; they had the obligatory card swipe, and they only had to give it a few tries before success. How a whole species can traverse the Milky Way yet still have flying death traps with basic tech that barely works will always bewilder him.

Eventually, the sound of activity fades as everyone spreads out throughout the ship. As he follows, Cyan doesn’t take his eyes off Yellow for a second. Sure, the other Imposter doesn’t seem dumb enough to kill immediately, but it wouldn’t be the first time. Every now and then, Yellow asks him a casual question, but he doesn’t provide much of a response, trying to keep it to one word answers or less. The distance between them is kept short, Cyan keeping within maybe two yards if he's being generous, but in reality he’s closer than that most of the time.

On the way to Communications they pass Orange and Green working on their project in Storage, and they both get some entertainment out of watching the veteran bark orders to anxious lil Orange, dropping tools and mumbling apologies.

Cyan stands in the doorway, arms crossed as Yellow does their download in Coms. Good idea to get the longest task out of the way before things go to shit, Cyan thinks.

Ten minutes of silence passes between them as the ship hums and the radio’s crackle being the only thing to fill the space. Yellow taps against their tablet, slow and arrhythmic at first. A minute longer and the tappings become more erratic, and through the seams of his helmet and flesh, the stink of turpentine seeps in, mixed with Yellow’s anxiety. The emotion gives him a shiver as it reminds him of the thrill. Cornering someone only to walk away, of past crews pointing fingers, impending chaos. He pushes the feelings down.

“Ok, um,” Yellow faces Cyan, download nearly done, “Can you just....” they trail off, the ding of completion stealing their attention long enough. “...I got my instructions for the majority of what I gotta get done before we dock at Polus, seems like a lot of slack pick-up with samples in Medbay,” they turn away from him, “bastards leave me behind the dirty work even though this is junior shit.” He hums in acknowledgement, moving out of the way to trail behind them as they venture together.

Green is still yelling at Orange as he drops another tool.

___________________________________

As the pair approaches Cafe, Blue chats with Brown as she carries over a box to their adopted table. In the distance he hears jovial conversation, and the low echo of Brown’s laugh. Blue notices them, practically begging them to join the two in the excitement.

“I know we haven’t been here for long, but we have so much time to finish our tasks, figured it a good time to have a little fun before going back to work!” the sunshine radiating through her visor is intense, Cyan feels as though he might get radiation poisoning if he spends too much time around her.

“Blue and I were doing some tasks in Admin and we found MIRA’S stash of goodies,” she gestures to the cardboard on the table, “I’ve seen past crew’s wear these but never bothered myself. ‘Was a lil weird no one was decoratin’ in the drop ship, figured out why.”

They all watch as Blue tears into the box with her zeal burning all their retinas. After a minute of shuffling, she pulls out a decorative cherry with a magnetic bottom, and sits it atop her helmet.

“Thank god it’s my favorite fruit!” she claps before diving right back in. A moment later, a tan hat is pulled from within, and she offers it to Brown, “I think this one would be perfect for you!”

Brown is motionless, staring down at Blue’s tiny stature before crossing her arms and taking a step forward.

“You think I want a cowboy hat? Cause of my accent? Really?”

“I-I, well, it’s pretty wide and you’re kinda tall, and, well yea the accent doesnt help but-” Blue sputters.

“....” Brown stares, before reaching out and snagging the hat from Blue’s limp grip, “You bet your ass I wanna wear that hat.”  
Blue beams at her, delivering a light punch to her arm as they both laugh it up. It was… sweet, both Yellow and Cyan think. Unproductive, but sweet.

“Now it’s your turn!” Blue points to the other pair. The bright colors glance at one another, and Yellow can’t help themselves but to give a hearty laugh.

“Aww man, it's been a while since I’ve dressed up during a mission. Kinda fell out of it a year or so back....” Cyan notices Yellows gaze drift off slightly again, noting the habit. They snap back without more hesitation, “But I guess I’ve to go back to my roots!”

They approach the box without hesitation, and rummages briefly before retrieving a pair of goggles, stretching them in just the right way before they look right. They turn to Brown, inspecting their handy work in her visor's reflection.

“Perfect, just as dumb looking as I remember.”

Blue exudes a squeal before bounding over to Cyan, patting him on the shoulder. The touch feels dull to him, but her excitement burns his olfactory sense, it took effort to not react to either sensation.

“It’s your turn Cyan! I can tell you’re the silent type, but you have to have a funny bone in you somewhere!” Brown gives a snort, and Yellow nods in agreement, but doesn’t say much beyond.

“The authorized accessories never really appealed to me, sorry,” Blue visibly falters, not pleased with his answer, “also I’m not the silent type.”

“Sure, and my suit is purple and I have four arms,” Brown said, “live a little, pick somethin’.” Blue gives him a slight push, not quite enjoying the contact again. Sure he’s gotten the occasional pat on the back or whatever, but since everything but his helmet was his flesh body, he didn’t really enjoy contact like this.

He slowly reaches into the box, Yellow’s suit leaving his peripherals for the first time since they met at HQ. The box was definitely a mélange of items, some he didn’t even recognize. The silence squeezes something in his abdomen, and he eventually fishes out something that he knows and doesn’t have an inherent distaste for.

The little sprout attaches to his helmet like Blue’s cherry did, and everyone coos in response.

“I don’t know, it just, suits you!” Blue chirped, Brown nodding in agreement.

“I like it a lot too, but I guess I’m a bit biased since I favor plants a lot,” Yellow adds with a shrug.

The rest of them chatter as he slowly swishes his head side to side, getting used to the new gravity before realizing how silly it probably makes him look.

He shakes himself out of the distraction before checking his tablet; it wouldn’t be long before dinner, and he felt his face twitch in anticipation.

He wants more than he’s willing to admit how much he wants to match that scent of anxiety to an accurate face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was a fun chapter to write, but o boy, its Going Down next chapter, lemme kno what you think!!


	4. Don't Look Back

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A cup of tea shouldn't make people so anxious

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if you've gotten this far, congratulations! you're officially my favorite

With dinner comes Cyan’s disappointment, curiosity itching further as the clock struck the hour.

The two had left the others in Cafe to head to Medbay. As they round the corner into the smaller room, Cyan hesitates, acutely aware of how different this one is from all the others he’s known before.

This Medbay has all the equipment and material that the standard Skeld contains, but it seems they’ve given this ship an upgrade in anticipation for Yellow’s work. He can’t identify all the materials, but there are a few more monitors than usual, a wide variety of beakers and other glass materials, some heating elements, a variety of microscopes, a few temperature controlled containers, more than seems necessary. 'What does he know? he muses. A general education in science is something all MIRA employees have, but this is a bit much, to Cyan at least.

He follows his charge, who makes quick work of rearranging most of the tools provided, ignoring his presence as they shuffle around. They reach for one of the coolers, its dense metal frame screeching across the floor as they attempt to make purchase on the box.

“Would you, uh, like help with that?” he offers. Yellow squats down farther, back straight and suit stiffening before the cooler’s platform lifts with them, a hefty, practiced grunt coming from them.

“Nah, I got it,” they huff, “appreciate it, though.” he doesn’t say anything in return, mostly in silent appreciation for their strength. They’re barely taller than him, but aren’t exactly the bulkiest human he’s met, and he didn’t quite anticipate this display of strength.

Eventually they park it in what Cyan can only assume is a more convenient location , but to be completely honest a few yards farther from the main desk seems more counterproductive than leaving it there, but he doesn’t bother mentioning it. Soon Yellow disassembles a box of materials, setting up an arrangement of items before settling down onto the creaking swivel chair and goes to work.

Cyan looks to the room’s vent, which sits across from Yellow’s vulnerable back, silent and almost begging him to crawl through it. He’s starting to get a bit antsy, not used to just not being able to do his own thing anymore. He ignores the desire, grabbing a nearby chair and positioning it over said vent before taking a seat, crossing his limbs and staring ahead at the human, unwavering in his posture. Or movement really. It never became his nature to fiddle, always on the move or observing his surroundings, and fiddling gave him the disadvantage of being read, should anyone try. So he embraces the silence of the room, save for Yellow’s scribblings onto paper, the occasional tap on their tablet, and the general ambiance of the ship.

Cyan glances at his own tablet as it reaches a new hour. Dinner had started about fifteen minutes ago, and Yellow made no sign of leaving their seat for the break, still hunched over their table. Weren’t they hungry? He almost brought it up, but decided not. He’s their bodyguard, not their babysitter. If Yellow wants to collapse for MIRA then that’s their problem. As long as he delivers them alive then he has succeeded.

Yellow’s visor is buried in a microscope when an hour has passed, the scent of unease reaching Cyan once more. He hasn’t moved an inch the entire time, simply observing their movements and the occasional creak of steel.

“You’re doing it again.” Yellow spoke without leaving the device, their only visible movement being the gentle tweak of the microscopes fine adjustments.

He tilts his head slightly, not sure what to make of the question.

“What do you mean?”

They half turn towards him, posture still poor and head angle mocking his own.

“You’re staring at me. It’s creepy as hell, and honestly I’d love it if you stopped.”

Cyan blinks, “I’m doing my task.”

Yellow takes a slow breath, patting their chair for a moment, “Yeah I get that, but nothing bads gonna happen if you’re not staring right at me for two seconds,” a pause, “do you have hobbies? Books you like to read? Anything?”

Cyan struggles as he tries to come up with an answer, truth or a lie. He hasn’t had a need for a human hobby in such a long time, it never occurred to him that he might need one. Or want one.

As he scrambles to come up with something, Yellow sighs before leaving their chair, making their way to a cabinet and shuffling through its contents. After a moment, they approach him with some articles in their hands.

“Here,” they shove a thin paper pad, a book, and a black pen into his hands, “you have a hobby now.”

As they return to the desk, he looks down at the book he’s been given. The Beauty and Variety of Earth’s Organisms, From Fish to Foliage, the book is titled. He flips through the pages, most being random wildlife pictures of various life forms from Earth, categorized by general kingdom before being further organized by finer categories.

“You want me to doodle?” Cyan scoffs. Yellow doesn’t move once from their microscope.

“I was thinking drawing, to be specific, but if doodling makes you happy then doodle away.” they pause to make a quick note “And I gave you a pen for a reason. An old artist friend of mine told me it's better in times of learning. Can’t erase your mistakes, so you gotta make every stroke count.” they conclude before their focus is redirected to their task, shutting him out from making a rebuttal.

He’s… never chosen to draw before. It wasn’t a hobby of his before the conflict with humans became part of his life, and it never came up after it all went to shit.

Flipping through the colorful pages, he stops at a random point, the pages settle on an image of a feathered creature midflight.

South African cliff swallow, Petrochelidon spilodera.

The bird doesn’t have any spectacular features, mostly light earthy tones and round features. He observes the photo for a moment before attempting to recreate it. The pen feels unnatural as it balances in his grip, not sure where to start. The eyes? Beak? Does he ignore that and just go straight for the ocean background? He settles for the head as a whole, dragging the pen along with what he hopes is going to create an image.

As he draws the texture of the feathers, he can feel himself… untense. Not relax- he isn’t sure what that word really means- but the jitter of his wrist finds a rhythm.

The feeling is gone the moment he goes for the body. The lines don’t seem right, the tail is wonky, and the face feels like a parody and he’s the asshole mocking the poor thing. Cyan spends the next couple of minutes trying to get it right, starting over on several pages, and he can feel his insides churn in frustration. Before he can throw the pen across the room, his head meets Yellow’s body as they rise once more, leaning over to the large bag they’d brought in from their personal possessions, kneecaps cracking as they kneel.

“It’s been a long day, me thinks,” they turn to him holding up a few small packets, “tea?” they offer.

He thinks for a moment, weighing the pros and cons. He’s had tea before, but most of the time it sucked in his opinion. On the flipside, he knows that tea comes in many different flavors, and some of the spices humans have managed to cultivate are pretty tasty.

“Depends, what do you have?”

Yellow gives a breathy laugh, heading back to the table to fill up an electric kettle- how had he missed that?- with water before setting it back on it’s stand to heat up.

“For now all I have is a rooibos chai, nothing too fancy.” They walk to Medbay’s archway before clicking the door closed. Technically speaking, taking your helmet off outside of mealtimes and sleep was against protocol, but if you’re gonna do it, it’s safest to do so in an isolated area in case of oxygen failure.

They return to the tiny desk that has the kettle separated from the lab instruments, gathering two steel mugs from an above cabinet. After assembling the drinks, they bring one to Cyan handle first, gloved hand protected from the heat.

“Here,” they gesture, “give it like four minutes. Don’t worry about taking out the bag, rooibos is awesome and you don’t have to stress about it over steeping.”

Returning to their seat, Cyan’s drink brewing as he watches, counting those seconds as their back faces him again.

3 minutes left.

“I’d offer you some milk or something, but ya know how it goes around here.” They shrug. Spice fills the air, and it doesn’t bother him as much as he anticipated.

2 minutes left.

The hiss of pressure as Yellow adjusts the clamps on their helmet is deafening to Cyan, and their practiced movement is lazy despite how little time it should take them. Hands grip the edges, lifting upwards, and Cyan doesn’t even notice that he’s stopped breathing, not willing to let a moment of observation escape him.

1 minute.

Yellow sets their helmet down casually, not bothering to turn away from their work. Two massive bundles of black hair sit atop their head, not a strand poking out of place. Their hair is intricately braided, then spiraled inward, pinned together to make two matching buns. When Yellow turns their head slightly, he can spot a few strands of grey near their crown and temple, barely noticeable, but Cyan can’t look away.

They take a tentative sip of their drink, silent as they work.

Turn back, turn around, look at me, something, Cyan internally begged, grip on his pen getting weaker.

Show yourself.

Cyan’s drink is forgotten as the night drifts on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lmao rip cyan, u aint getting a face to the name THAT easily
> 
> thank you for reading!! pls lemme kno what you think, it means the world to me!!! enjoy the rest of your day/night!! :DD


	5. Blessing of the Drums

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> is it considered cringe? probably, but it's my city and i can do with it what i want. also its gonna hurt next chapter.... or is it? haha, unless...?  
> ALSO ngl i kinda struggled with this chapter?? i know that i want to keep the events that happen in here but i had a hard time following the golden rule of show not tell during this chapter! any recommendations would be lovely!

The knock on the door breaks the silence of Medbay and derails Cyan’s train of thought, not that there was much beyond taking in whatever details Yellow chose to reveal.

To his dismay, Yellow moves to reattach their helmet before answering the door. The cup he’s holding remains full, gone mostly cold. Warming scents lingering in the air escape and the door opens, revealing an ever zealous Blue, who’s towered by Yellow’s height.

“Ah, Blue, good to see you’re still in good spirits,” they place a hand on their hip. “I know we haven’t been in space for long, but it’s nice to see you’re handling it well. Here for a medscan?”

Blue fiddles with her hands for a second, the sheepish behavior not befitting of the crewmate, but doesn’t seem distressed, “Err, actually, I was planning on doing my scan tomorrow! I was wondering if you wanted to join us in Cafe? Didn’t want you to feel left out!” her helmet tilts past Yellow and gasps, hand waving at Cyan. “Didn’t see you there! You should come too Cyan!”

Blue beams at him as Yellow turns back, peering at the work table, materials still scattered about.

“Well, I guess this is a good stopping point,” Yellow reaches over their head and stretches their back, a faint pop escaping. “Sure, let’s go! What’re y’all up to?”

The two chat and they leave, conversation drifting with them. The moment Yellow can’t see him, Cyan dumps the beverage down the tiny sink, setting the mug next to his charge’s. A few strides and he’s reunited with the two, just about to enter Cafe. The smaller table nearest them sat Brown, who looks as though she’s attempting to converse with Orange, who’s slowly folding in on his already small form, looking in every other direction but her. The table north of them occupies Red and Green, who’re engaged in some kind of card game, neither talking, focused on their own hands.

“I’m back guys!” Blue cheers, snagging the attention of Brown and Orange, the latter who seems to deflate in relief. Green hums in acknowledgement, the pair still not breaking attention further.

“Glad you didn’t fall off ship during your travels.” Brown elbows Blue gently as she sits with her, Blue laughing and making a noise before remembering no one can see her face, so just returns the gesture with a light fist to the shoulder.

“O-oh, you two…” Orange starts strong before puttering out, looking away, “you, uh, missed dinner.”

Yellow is silent for a moment, the pair having yet to take a seat with the three, and glances at the digital clock nearby.

“Aw, crap, you’re right...” they take a seat in defeat next to Brown, visor buried in their hands. She gives them a pat on the back, and Cyan stares, still standing and very muchso on alert to how the two are making contact.

He feels his pinky twitch. Cyan never ended up pocketing the gun, but still had the serrated knife tucked away. He takes a deep breath. If someone’s gonna kill anyone they're not gonna do it when literally everyone is a witness, he just needs to stop being so on edge.

“It’s alright, I managed to snag you a couple protein bars. It ain’t dinner, but it’s better than nothing.” Brown’s hand leaves their back to produce said bars, to which Yellow graciously accepts.

“Brown, you’re a lifesaver! I’ll have these before bed, seriously, you’re the best.” Yellow praises before parking the bars in one the many pockets of their suit. She nods back to them coolly, tipping her hat with her legs crossed and leaning back, supported by the leverage of the table.

“So Blue, you ask Yellow yet what they think would be a good idea?” Brown redirects the small groups focus to Blue, who perks right back up. In his efforts to hide his drink, Cyan fell out of the conversation, and hadn’t thought twice about it until he realized he’s missing some important nouns to understand what’s going on.

“Oh, you mean what to do for the ship? Are you looking for ideas on how to ‘christen’ the ship, or are you looking for my help to execute an idea you already have?”

“Ideas, mostly! We don’t have any bottles of alcohol, or glass bottles of anything really, and to my knowledge we have no ordained ministers on board. Or that any of us are religious at all, actually…” Blue trails off, tapping her helmet in thought.

Early in his ‘career’ , Cyan had witnessed a few faux blessings from random crews, but most ended with either partying too hard or someone dead. Cyan didn’t participate either way, but soon enough any formal attempts at the tradition became banned for sake of reducing workplace mortality.

From the other table, Green lets out a heavy laugh, not turning away from his game as Red lays down a card.

“Maybe two of you should get married like the French used to do on new ships.” He laughs to himself for a couple seconds before making his own move against Red. They all ignore him.

“Or, on a similar note, maybe we can offer some words in the form of song? To compensate for the lack of physical offerings, I guess?” Yellow suggests, and Blue practically launches herself across the ship in excitement, running off towards storage, yelling something about needing instruments. Red catches wind of what’s about to happen and stands.

“Oh hell no, I’m not about to get wrapped up in a sing-along,” Red drops his cards on the table, Green throwing his arms up in frustration from losing his opponent. “I’m duckin’ in for the night, enjoy your little musical or whatever.”

Green huffs before gathering the cards for a reshuffle, and in barrels Blue with a metal bucket and a seemingly empty tool box in hand, setting them on the table.

“I have no idea what song we’re gonna do, but I know we’ll need some kind of beat, yes?” She offers the bucket to Yellow and the toolbox to Brown, who both take it after a moment.

“Ah, I was thinking the song Chapel Hill, by the Earth folk group Rosa, would be a good one. Ya heard it Yellow?” Brown proposes, offering Yellow a thin wrench as makeshift drumstick.

“I have, actually! My parents were big fans of anything ranging from folk to bluegrass, especially the stuff from Earth. Well, my dad was a particular fan of rock, but details,” Yellow gives the bucket a couple of test taps. “Sound good to the rest of you?”

“I’ve never heard of it, but I’ll give it a swing!” Blue claps, and Orange raises a sheepish hand.

“I don’t know it, a-and I’m not really that good at singing, so maybe it’d be best if I just… didn’t…” He looks like he wants to run away, but before he can scoot , Blue wraps an arm around his shoulder and pulls him close.

“Aww come on Orange, don’t be like that! I can’t be the only sap who doesn’t know what’s going on!” Blue lets him go, whipping out her tablet, “I’ll even pull up the lyrics!”

“Don’t even worry about being good at singing Orange,” Brown comforts, “it’s honestly more spoken word than sung, and there’s no variety in the beat or flow, so as long as you start the words on cue and stay with the rhythm you’ll be fine.” she catches Green’s attention, beckoning him over.

“You guys can have all the fun this time, I’m good over here.” he stares back down to the game of Solitaire that’s begun.

Blue crosses her arms with a huff before looking at Cyan. Oh no.

“You gotta join us Cyan! This quartet could be a chorus!” Cyan could feel himself start to sweat over everyone’s eyes on him combined with the idea of having to- literally- perform. He leans against the nearby wall, putting a hand up in defense.

“I’ll sit this one out, maybe I’ll catch the next one.” she looks like she wants to protest but Yellow cuts her off.

“That’s alright, it’s not for everyone,” Yellow hand briefly meets her shoulder before retreating back to their tools. Cyan’s focus is refreshed, the itch is back.

Everyone shuffles in their seats in anticipation, Blue and Orange sharing her tablet’s screen, the pair exuding opposite energies.

“Ok, 1, 2, 1…” And Yellow and Brown start in sync, banging their ‘drums’ in a monotone, steady note. It never deviates, every other beat bringing a resounding echo around the room. With each beat the quality of the noise got better, the two finding better angles to hit from. After a few short measures, Brown and Yellow start the song alone.

“When the waves have started to crumble  
And the mountains smooth and die  
Take me where the road is humble  
Where the oldest men have died”

Brown cues in Blue and Orange to join.

“And I'll lay and make my bed there  
Midst the beat and treaded roads  
Midst the memories of the dead there  
Stronger now and lonesome cold”

Cyan notices Green’s foot hopping in tandem, but his eyes are still focusing on his game.

“For I ask for not a second  
With a comfort in my chest  
Instead one million years of wandering  
Till I reach my final rest”

Cyan’s humming can’t be heard over the chants.

“And I'll lay and make my bed there  
Midst the beat and treaded roads  
Midst the memories of the dead there  
Stronger now and lonesome cold

Every kid must ask the question  
‘Why do all our heroes die?  
Did they live to wake in the morning  
Or live to sing under golden skies?’

And I'll lay and make my bed there  
Midst the beat and treaded roads  
Midst the memories of the dead there  
Stronger now and lonesome cold”

And it all stops in an instant.

No one says anything for the moment before Blue cheers out and claps. He decides to join the claps, the percussionists clanging their drumsticks in rejoice. Orange himself looks a bit more energized than a few minutes ago.

“That was awesome you guys! We have to do something like that again soon!” the others agree with Blue, everyone giggling. “You should join us too, Cyan!”

He can only shrug out a ‘maybe’ before looking at the clock. It’s technically half an hour past lights out at this point.

Yellow follow’s his stare to the clock, setting down their instrument and getting up.

“And so the Skeld has been blessed, and no creatures shall lurk tonight,” they wave their hand in an arching motion, making way to the smaller entrance that leads to the sleeping quarters, Cyan trailing a few steps behind. “I can’t tell y'all what to do, but I recommend heading to bed soon. We still got a job to do tomorrow.”

Blue’s ‘boo’ is silenced as the two make way down the narrow corridor. Upon reaching their own door, they turn back to Cyan, who’s within arms reach, statue-like and silent.

They stare at one another for a breath, “If you follow me into my quarters I’m kicking your ass. Good night.” And with that, they spin around into their room, steel door closing in his face, the green lock icon lighting up just under the emergency open button.

He doesn’t have much more of an option but to retreat to his own room.

The quarters on any MIRA station or post are probably the safest place to be in. Each room is locked internally, with the only way for an outsider to open it is to press that red button, which as a consequence will open everyone's door simultaneously and a meeting is called to account for everyone. Each room came with a shoebox ¾ bathroom, is air tight, with a private oxygen supply in case something goes wrong while everyone's out.

His room is down the other end of the hall, and locks himself in. He sets his helmet down on the small side table, letting his form shift into something more comfortable. He still kept his human form, but being in a form that wasn’t so puffy like the spacesuit is always welcome, his skin replicating that of a sleep outfit. He turns off the lights and crawls into bed, slipping on an eye mask. He only sleeps maybe an hour or two in a human cycle, but being sensitive to light has it’s disadvantages.

Cyan hopes for a second chance at breakfast, and has a hard time getting that one measly hour.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How to Imply the French are a Thing of the Past Without Saying it Outright, a book by me
> 
> if you where hoping for blood this chapter, then sorry to disappoint! dont worry tho, the number 6 is considered a lucky number in some places :)


	6. Between My Daydreams

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things are going smoothly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ayyye guess who sucks at html. tried to use the rich text, which says that certain parts are italicized, i go to preview it, and only half the stuff is actually italicized. o well. 
> 
> ANYWAYS longest chapter so far! CW: mentions of death, various scars, smoking mention, canon typical violence, and i believe thats it! 
> 
> Im occasionally trying to switch up the POV for this fic, i don't want it to be exclusively from Cyan's POV! if it comes off as clunky/have suggestions, lemme kno!

The blaring alarm clock rips Yellow from the series of dreams that always leaves them confused, the extremum of emotion disorienting the crewmate beyond what waking up normally brings others.

Wiping the sleep from their eyes, they feel around the bedside table in search of their silver, rimless glasses, groaning in disappointment when the frame clatters to the ground in a lapse of dimensional judgement. A deep breath and a moment of silence later, they rise up from the tiny bed to retrieve the specs, luckily undamaged beyond the sparse scratches already decorating the lenses. The clock says it’s only half an hour before breakfast, much to their relief. Finally a night that doesn’t leave them waiting for the hours to pass by.

With time to spare, they take a moment to stretch, practicing movements bringing relief to the stiffness that plagues the body during such idle measures. Standing up from being folded over, their gaze is met to the space just above the tiny mirror in their room. The square of glass is oriented for a more average height, and instead of their face, the see the reflection of their chest. With a cold hand, they watch the mirror as they trace one of the lateral scars along their chest, the lighter color snaking along to meet in the middle in an upward angle, the two lines meeting in an off-center arch. A pained smile creeps upon their face, getting lost in a memory more than a decade old. Now’s not the time to get emotional, the day hasn’t even started.

They crouch down to observe the mop that’s become of their hair; strands poking out in every which direction, the hair tie lost at some point in the night. It takes a long time to undo their work and comb out the hip length hair, but after the tangles are taken care of, it gets redone in a basic French braid, nothing too fancy. They debate pinning back their blunt cut bangs that always bend in a weird direction, and decide against it. Get dressed, tuck the hair under their suit, attach the helmet. Check, check, and check. It was kind of dumb to put on your whole suit when you’re just gonna take it off in a few minutes, but it was all routine at this point.

With a huff, Yellow approaches their own door, unlocking it, expecting to just waltz right out, but a bright blue figure appears mere inches away, their reflection staring them right back in the eye through his visor.

“Christ on a bike!” Yellow yelps, placing a hand over their rapid heart. This isn't the wake up call they’re used to. “You scared the shit outta me…”

Cyan’s ever neutral body language remains rigid, his head tilting only a degree to the right.

“Didn’t mean to alarm you. Breakfast started fifteen minutes ago, everyone else is in Cafe.” and his tone is just as neutral. Yellow can’t tell if he’s annoyed, impatient, or... anything. He was a helluva lot easier to read yesterday, and right now it’s like talking to a blank slate. It makes Yellow hesitate, waiting for him to continue, but only silence follows.

“Ah, well uh, sorry to keep you then… Well, you don’t have to wait for me for breakfast you know, everything's still locked up until the work day starts.”

He simply stares ahead. No words, no body language, nothing. Eventually he moves to the side, allowing passage to the hallway leading to Cafe. They walk together in uncomfortable silence for a few yards before reaching the room, the stark fluorescent light burning their eyes for a moment before the room comes into focus.

Almost everyone is lounging around picking at their breakfast, helmet free and chatting away. The smell of cheap preserved meats and salty MRE’s are lingering, with instant coffee staining the air. The pair pass by Green, the oldest of the group, sitting alone and focused on his pad. A paper plate covered in breadcrumbs and half empty cup of black coffee lays abandoned in front of him, his five o’clock shadowed jaw moving in a circular, repetitive motion. He wasn’t eating anything, as far as Cyan could tell, and decided to take a glance at the crewmates screen when passing by. It seemed to be some sort of puzzle; a bunch of numbers, blank spaces, and enough perfect squares to make Cyan unnerved.

Red’s already resuited, trash disposed of, sitting across from Orange, who’s making slow work of bagel in between conversation with him. Orange’s hair nearly matches his suit, hair several months overgrown from the buzzcut and curling in unruly directions. It’s a bit tough to notice against his pale skin, but a patch of matching hair sits below his thin lower lip. It’s a bit sad to look at, but at least the younger crewmate is trying.

Cyan follows Yellow to retrieve their meal, copying their simple choice of a hearty protein shake. Minimal effort with maximum results, he can respect that. As much as his desire for meat grew, he knew all too well that settling for the packaged proteins would just leave him equally dissatisfied.

Making their way to the center table hosts Brown, Blue, and the Big Red Button. It goes ignored as the duo chat away, only noticing the approach of the senior crewmembers when they sit down.

“Good morning you two!” Blue chirps at them. Her blonde bob bounces with her, a toothy smile befitting her expressions, neutral grey eyes darting between the couple. Brown follows with a more tired wave, unbothered by the powerhouse of energy sitting beside her. Her fist rests against her own face, chewing slowly on some cereal. Her hair is blonde like Blue’s, but instead of the blunt cut, tight coils rest at most an inch from her scalp, the texture giving an almost cloud-like air to it. She lazily opens her eyes for a moment to nod another greeting, the icy color a fabulous compliment to her curls. Her dark skin is similar to what Cyan remembers seeing in Yellow’s photo, only a few shades lighter. Unlike Yellow, her entire face is decorated in countless freckles, not a square centimeter free of a marking, a slight concentration across the bridge of her nose.

“‘Mornin.” She offers. “I don’t know about you two, but that first night sucks hardcore. All I can hear is this giant contraption clunking along and I gotta tell ya, it’s not comforting.” Another shovel of cereal, and nothing else.

“Yea, Skeld’s aren’t exactly the quietest of ships, huh? I’ve gotten used to it, but I remember the first year of supply runs being tough solely from that feeling alone.” Yellow comforts.

The moment he’s been anticipating hits Cyan like… well… a spaceship. They don’t hesitate in removing their helmet, and he can feel his hearts skipping. Anxiety or not, he doesn’t really know, but he does know it’s weird to just stare, unmoving as his charge moves without him following. The hiss of the pressure, a clink as the helmets rests on the table, all so casual as they crack open their drink, not bothering to pay attention to anyone else. The trio start chatting as the pressure in his ears becomes too much, and he removes his helmet as well, doing his best to not draw attention and simply try to consume his breakfast ASAP.

“Damn, what the hell happened to you?” Green brought his tablet over to the group and sat down across from Yellow, staring right at them. He made the mistake of sitting next to Brown, who smacks him upside the head with a gloved hand.

“The hell is wrong with you? Were you raised in a barn?”

Green groans and rubs the back of his head, “Yea, back on Earth actually, thanks for asking.”

The elephant in the room flushes in embarrassment, Yellow’s gaze looking at the center button as if to press it to distract from the conversation taking place.

“I-it’s, uh, kind of a boring story, actually…” Yellow’s pointer finger meets the base of the long scar that starts at the bottom right side of their lower lip, and travels up to stop right below the middle of their forehead. The healed gash passes up over their right nostril, a millimeter or two of flesh notched out from where the skin had originally split. The sharp incline managed to shave off the inner corner of their eyebrow of the same side. If not for the natural geometry of a face, it would be a perfect line.

“Green’s just being a dick, you don’t have to talk about it if you don’t wanna.” Brown offers. The commotion has captured Orange, and even Red’s attention.

“He is a dick, but it’s no big deal, really.” They trace the concave skin to their nose before pulling away, taking a quick sip of their shake. “A little morose, but it was like, almost five years ago at this point. It was just another cargo run, on a Skeld, nothing too crazy. Well, there was some emergency construction that had to take place halfway through the trip. Some vital infrastructure decided to just, collapse.” They blink, looking off at nothing before snapping back. “Well, I guess to make this short, I was in the wrong place at the wrong time. I was just repairing some wires near where the scaffolding was set up, some frame part got knocked outta place, and all I remember before blacking out was getting slammed to the floor.” Another tentative sip.

“Next thing I knew, I woke up at the med center in HQ. According to the agent who debriefed me, it was a chain reaction; a crewmate noticed I was in the way of getting hurt, they moved to push me out of the way, and another crewmate did the same to them. And, uh…” they tap the plastic container. “The two didn’t make it. They both received high honors, but nothing was really explained to me besides that.”

The air is awkward, no one really knows what to say. Green looks at Red, who looks at Orange, who flushes a deep color, the tension being a bit too much for him.

“It looks worse than it actually was, really,” Yellow breaks the silence. “The cut wasn’t that deep, but whatever cut me was a very fine edge, so I needed stitches, only a couple in certain spots.”

Eventually Yellow manages to finesse the air of tension away by asking the other’s tales from their own pasts, redirecting the attention as everyone pipes in with stories of their own.

Cyan’s body stirs with way too many feelings at once. He wasn’t used to feeling so much in such a compressed period of time, and decided to focus on making sure his olive toned skin didn’t fluctuate in color too much as he makes quick work of his own breakfast, electing to observe Yellow, and maybe a few of the others. The story Yellow had given doesn’t sit well with him, but the dense knot goes away as everyone suits back up to continue the work day.

______________________________________________________________________

Blue follows up on her promise to do her Medscan a few hours later, and has a hard time standing still to let the scanner do it’s job. Yellow reminds her a few times to chill out, and eventually she does, data flooding the main screen. Yellow observes the info, looking for something to comment on, but never ends up coming to any sort of conclusion that might benefit the stout crewmate. All in all, the process takes about 30 minutes, and just like that she’s gone.

A few hours pass, and Green shows up to follow the same process, not really greeting either of them, much less making eye contact with Yellow, before letting the scan whirl to life once more. A similar stretch of data fills the screen, and after a few minutes, Yellow leans forward, arms crossed.

“Green, your blood pressure’s a bit high. Do you take medication for that?”

The machine dies down and he steps off, crossing his arms right back at them.

“Not really, no. I’m not surprised though, cigarettes will do that to you.” They exhale, leaning back into the high backed chair.

“Well seems like a better time than ever to give it a shot at quitting. It’ll be awhile before we reach Polus, how about it?” they offer.

“Hah, as if,” he chuckles back, “first thing I’m doing when we land is lighting one up. Thanks for the concern.”

And like that, he’s out of the room, leaving them in another tense silence.  
______________________________________________________________________

Dinner comes around by the time Cyan managed to get through a few sketches of random organisms, this time taking a stab at some kind of reptile, and a few different types of deciduous trees. He’s more proud of the tree’s if he’s honest, and decides to bring the paper pad with him to Cafe to continue working in between bites of food. The lizard needs more justice, so far it just looks like a decorative sock.

Only twenty minutes into dinner and he can feel something creeping his way. Yellow’s to his right, who’s boisterous chatter with Orange and Brown a nice background noise for him to get lost in as he sketches. But he can’t ignore what's stalking up behind him, and he whips around to a curious Blue, who’s trying to peer over his shoulder at his drawing.

“Ooo, whatcha drawing? Can I see?” she tries to stretch on her toes for a better angle, and he moves it just an inch away, trying to not feel childish for trying to hide something as harmless as a picture.

“Oh, uh, you don’t have to uh, show me, if you don’t want to…” she picks up on his body language, retreating sheepishly and rubbing her arm, turning away to her seat.

Well now he’s the dick. It’s just a drawing, he supposes.

Reluctantly he offers the pad to her. It only has a few blank pages left anyways.

She perks up at the paper offered to her, gently taking the bundle in both hands. She doesn’t flip through the pages, to his relief, and instead coos at the picture of the lizard he was attempting to improve.

“Cyan! This is awesome!” she boasts, pride inflating her stance and sparking in her gunmetal eyes. “Reptiles are the coolest! Maybe one day, you can draw my favorite lizard? It’s the chameleon! Their little hands are so funny, and the way they blend into their environment…”

Before she can’t drift away from the table in her rambles, Yellow raises their hand. He nearly laughs, do they think this is the academy?

“Actually, that’s a common misconception,” Yellow whips out their tablet and extracts the stylus attached. Opening an art application, they start to draw a diagram without really looking up at any point. “While they do it to blend in to a certain degree, it’s primarily a tool to communicate with others, and occasionally used to regulate their heat, depending,” in a square they draw out several horizontal squiggly lines, with random diamonds embedded in the layers of lines. They label a few of the layers, but honestly he can’t make out the writing beyond the words that are clearly the names of colors.

“The top layer of the epidermis is pretty much unremarkable, acting like the top layer of glass for a terminal screen. Chameleons have two main types of skin cells that are responsible for changing color. The main type is called chromatophores, which contain most of the pigments, like red, brown, and green. Without the interaction of the other cells, iridophores, these colors tend to be neutral, not very eye catching.” in between these layers, they draw a hatch pattern in between, knitting smaller shapes in between the diamonds. “The iridophores have a small portion of pigments as well, but what makes them special are thousands of guanine crystals embedded in the cell’s structure. They act like light bending prisms, and depending on how the reptile relaxes or tenses it’s skin, light can reflect outwards from those pigments to manipulate the intensity of the color, giving them their famous color wheel.”

The stylus ceases tapping with them, and looks up for the first time to find the three of them staring.

“Ok, wow, first of all, nerd alert,” Brown starts, “Secondly, I didn’t expect to get a mini lecture on lizard skin, but it was fun.” she pauses. “I mean this in the nicest way too, but your handwriting kinda sucks.”

Heat rushes to Yellow’s face again, Cyan doing his best to imprint the expression to memory. He’s never been able to replicate it, and perhaps it’s time to update his facial communication skills. Yea, that’s it.

“‘Nerd alert’? That’s rich coming from a bunch of people traversing space as we speak.” Yellow retorts, and Brown snorts back in laughter.

______________________________________________________________________

The following two weeks are much like that. They all follow the ship's artificial day and night cycle, chatting at meal times, scattering to do repairs around the ship, import and export data, the works. When Yellow asks him a question, he starts to give full length sentences. And sometimes he even asks one back.

It’s nearly two weeks now, and it’s all going smoothly. He doesn’t like it.

Normally if things are going this well for this long, it’s for him and his partner to coordinate alibis before committing to a rapid succession of kills. But he hasn’t had that luxury to communicate, and time’s running out. It’s only a few more weeks to Polus, after all.

“In all my years, I’ve never been to the Polus colony. What do you think it’ll be like?”

Yellow’s query pulls him from the anxious thought, realizing the number of dots he’s left on the blank page of his new, thicker paper pad, out of nervous tapping. Shit, now he’s picking up habits he’s never had.

“No idea. I know it’ll be cold as hell, and I’m not looking forward to that. Doctors tell me I have poor circulation, but they never did anything to treat it, so it can’t be that bad.”

Yellow smiles at his answer, the slightest hint of crinkles in the outer corner of their eyes. He’s not sure if it’s a trick of the fluorescents, but every now and then he spies flecks of green in their iris. They take a sip of their drink, the same as his, which he actually decided to drink this time, and even then the smile stays the same. Even when they don’t actively smile at him, their lips have a natural upward curve that remains in a neutral expression.

“I’m looking forward to the cold myself. I love the snow, you don’t exactly get the chance to encounter it every year,” they pause, tapping the metal cup for a beat. “Do you think-”

And the lights cut out.

“Ah shit, of course. The wiring makes it two weeks out and now they decide to crap out…” Cyan watches as they fumble in the dark to reattach their helmet, his vision unaffected. Once secure, the helmet’s sad headlight flashes to life, only lighting up a foot or two. They stand and make way to the door, Cyan trailing even closer than normal. He might not see anything differently, but they sure don’t, staying within arms reach of one another. Yellow turns to make a right, but he stops them by the shoulder. His grip might be a little strong, but it’s his first time touching them.

Well, not _really_ touching them, more like making contact. Specifics.

“We should go the other way. Green ‘n Orange are still working on that project in Storage, there’s parts scattering the whole area.”

They nod at him, making a b line for the engines instead.

The pair don’t converse the whole time, the silence birthing a growing tension with each step. Passing security, Yellow peaks in, the room illuminated by the monitors.

“This isn’t good. We haven’t passed a single crew member yet…” they take a deep breath before continuing down in the lower engine and- “The door…”

Is locked.

“The hell?” They bang on the door a few times, thick steel not even giving them the satisfaction of budging. “I know these ships can go haywire sometimes, but this is getting ridiculous..”

So they wait together in silence, the door remains. In the quiet, the beating of Yellow’s heart grows louder in his ears as the seconds tick by, and he feels the colors of the room fade til nothing but his charge’s suit remains. His hands tremble, the knife a burning weight at his thigh. It would be so easy. It would be so, _so_ easy....

“Oh, someone beat us to it.”

The sudden breath is icy in his blood, blinking rapidly until things felt normal again.

“Guess we can go-” a blood curdling scream is muffled through the layers of steel, but it clearly came from the direction of storage. A second later and the emergency coms in all the suits spark to life, the high frequency screaming in Cyan’s ears. He nearly rips the helmet off before a voice comes in.

 _“Talk to me, what happened.”_ Brown’s voice is steady over the channel, concerned yet strict.

_“I-I, we were just, it was only a few seconds, how could…”_

“Shit, that’s Orange.”

_“Orange calm down, breathe. You opened the emergency channel for a reason, what happened.”_

_“I-it’s Green, he’s.... He’s dead, with me in Storage. It’s just.... Gone.”_

_“Gone? Orange, elaborate."_ there’s silence as the channel wavers.

_“His upper half… nothing, there’s nothing there.” _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> press F to pay respects


	7. And My Nightmares

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A leader and her crew learn about some new tech.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter for me was so fun to write!! Especially the end haha, i like being a false poet  
> also, another chapter! so soon, you might ask? yes! Ive been on stay-cation for the past week, and since im not really doing anything ive just been cranking out chapters. dont get use to it tho!! i go back to work wensday and then it's back to once a week unless i manage it, unlikely. 
> 
> Anyways!! CW for this chapter: blood, not super graphic gore, flesh consumption, knives, and as the title suggests, nightmares.

_“Everyone get to Cafe stat. Avoid Storage, I don’t need anyone to see whatever happened to him.”_ Brown directs before the channel cuts out.

  
  


The air’s thick with silence, no one looking at one another, or saying anything. The ship’s inner mechanisms clink and buzz, the fabric of a suit would shuffle, but nothing else. For once Blue was silent, avoiding looking at anyone except Brown and occasionally Yellow, looking for reassurance, but bowed her head when it’s not provided. Orange stares at his open palms, the bottom of his boots covered in blood that had started to cake and flake in some places. Everyone else seemed, in comparison, to be in good shape, but that’s not saying a lot when you can’t see faces and are refusing to move a muscle. 

Brown is the first to speak, rising up, hands pressing into the table with her body weight, scanning the occupants. 

“Where was everyone? Cyan and Yellow, you’re always hangin' around one another, go.”

One looks at the other. There wasn’t any reason to hesitate; neither were involved. Yellow didn’t seem too affected about the news they’ve heard on many other ships before, and Cyan didn’t have anything to hide. Who would sound better for their collective benefit? 

“I was wrapping up one of my million sample tasks in Medbay when the lights cut out, and Cyan was keeping me company, he had already completed his tasks for the day.” Yellow half lied. “We went through the engines but got stopped by some random door locking us out of the way to Electrical. The lights came back on and, well…” 

She slowly nods, taking in the information. 

“Blue? Where were you?”

She jumps, shaken already. 

“I-in O2, cleaning out the filters. It was only supposed to take me a few minutes, but after the lights cut off, it took way longer. I didn’t wanna leave a task half finished, so I… didn’t bother going to Electrical…” guilt laces her voice, her form shrinking down. Maybe she could’ve stopped it all by being a witness, maybe she would’ve seen the carnage, maybe she would be in Green’s place. She shivers the thoughts away.

“Red?” 

He takes in a shaky breath, his shoulders jittering. 

“I was doing a task in Lower Engine. The lights cut, I left for Electrical to fix them. As soon as I get there, the doors lock me in… Figured all I can do is fix the lights and wait til they open up again, but I didn’t have to wait for long, I… heard Orange scream, when he found Green’s body,” he pauses. “What about you Brown?” his tone is a little aggressive, but makes an effort to bite it down. 

“I was up north in Navigations. I had left Blue to do her thing, and decided to check up on our course. We’ve actually been knocked off a few degrees for a little while, so I realigned and made adjustments. When the lights cut out it didn’t make my job that much more difficult, the tables are all lit up. Making sure we’re on track was more important than checking on faulty wiring.” a solid alibi. 

“O-orange? What did you see?” Blue’s voice is meek.

Orange breaks out of his stupor, slowly crossing his arms in an attempt to self-comfort. 

“W-we were just wrapping up our installment, just a few bits here and there. A test run was in order, but before we could do it…” his breath is deep and slow. “I took his place by the machine, he said it would only take a minute to fix lights. I heard him walk for a few seconds, before… there was a choking gasp, rubber fighting against the floor, and a thump,” Brown can feel her skin prick. “I call out for him, to make sure he’s ok, ya kno? He doesn’t say anything, so I go to him and- I see his boots, something wet on the floor and- when the lights came back on-” he takes a moment to soothe his breathing to avoid the oncoming attack. No one else has anything to say, making no move to comfort him.

Brown’s fist ball up on the table, the thick fabric creaking in her grip. 

“This quickly turned into a shit show…” a deep breath to steady her own thoughts, before turning to Orange. “Orange, go to your quarters, clean yourself up. I gotta figure out what to do with the body…” she peers down to where the southern end of the room eventually leads. She looks as if she’s going to go by herself, but Red puts up a hand to stop her. 

“Don’t, you shouldn’t have to see this. I’ve only been on a mission or more than you, but this isn’t the first time I’ve witnessed shit like this. The longer you can avoid this, the better,” he rises. “It’ll give us all some time to think, I hope. Brainstorm a game plan.” Cyan stands as he does.

“I’m going with you. It’s too dangerous to be alone right now, I've seen my share. Too risky otherwise.” 

Some kind of frustration pours out of Brown, wanting to protest the idea, but it’s true. The problems not going to go away, and having a decaying corpse mingle with the limited air supply is a death sentence. 

“Fine,” she points to the two men, “but I swear, if one of you comes back without the other, I’m shoving you out the airlock myself.” 

The pair nod, making their way down ship, Orange slinking the opposite way to wash his boots.

Neither speak, just a steady march to Storage. The delicious stink of copper, viscera leaking onto the floor, the lame lower half of something that once resembled a person. 

“Man, what is your deal,” Red doesn’t break his gaze away from the carcass. “You spend all your time with that one human and you can’t even lift a finger to help me with the mission.” Red grabs the remains by the ankle, hosting it up to stare at like a broken toy. 

“I have my own prerogative.” frowns Cyan, arms crossed.

“Clearly,” Red scoffs. “Whatever. You want the leftovers?” 

Cyan eyes the thick blood pooling, his stomach clawing at him to accept. 

“All yours. I’m trying to not get addicted to nicotine.” 

Red stifles a laugh, body splitting to make work of eating what he wants. 

“You’re definitely an odd one.” 

With scraps out the airlock, the pair return to the still-tense Cafe, nothing changed beyond the state of Orange’s shoes. 

“Just to be sure, no one saw anything? Anything at all?” Brown triple checks.

Unsurprisingly no one responds, the ship's recycled air getting staler by the second. She groans at the silence, standing straight. 

“Alright, that’s it. We’re doing the buddy system,” her authoritative stare locks onto Red, who looks ready to just ditch, “and no butts. We clearly have an Impostor on board, and in that case it’s strength in numbers. Can’t die if you’re alone, and if you do, we know who to get,” she points to Cyan. “Yellow, you’re with Cyan. You always hang out anyways, just think about it as a super long hang out.” 

As if that wasn’t what it was already.

“Orange, you’re with Red. Blue, you’re sticking with me. No 'ifs' or 'ands'. If you don’t wanna do this, then we can take a vote on it. Anyone object to the buddy system?” no one besides Red raises a hand, “Good. You don’t so much as blink in the other direction of each other, bathroom breaks and lights out being the _only_ exception,” her helmet sweeps the room a final time, “capeesh?” 

Everyone nods in return, shuffling to be with their new partners, besides Cyan, who’d already made his way to his charge from Storage. 

“W-wait, Orange,” Blue calls out, “You said that you and Green just finished up installing some new tech. What is it?” a whisper of hope slips into her speech, holding her own hands tight together. 

Orange doesn’t move, stuck on his own words, his stink of anxiety adding to the thick mix everyone’s spent into the air. He was already sweating from fear, and it kept piling on. 

“Orange?” Yellow probes. He looks like he wants to run and hide, knuckles cracking with the wring of his hands. 

“I-it would be better if we… all go. Easier to explain.” 

They all trail after the junior crewmmate, his foot falls a little wobbly as they approach the room. He does his best to avoid looking at the blood staining the floor. Situated high on the wall, a few yards down from the airlock, is a sleek black box. A few random holes expose some of the inner workings, but it doesn’t hint at it’s function in the slightest. Besides that, all that is left is the logo that most tech developed by MIRA has printed on it. 

“The number of Impostor instances has been on the rise for a few years now, as we all k-know,” Orange reaches out to a smaller black box connected by thick wires to the main machine. “Somehow, despite the security measures and intense vetting the company puts all crewmembers through, they still manage to slip into the ranks, so,” he opens the main panel, flicking some switches, pressing a few buttons, “MIRA designed this as a last line of defense in the event of a… death or sabotage,” he rests his hand on a lever. “A last resort, when things go to hell.” and the device whirls to life. 

Lights decorate the box, a high frequency shrill violates Cyan’s sensitive ears. The humans don't seem to hear it, and it takes everything in him to not show a reaction. A perky line of chirps and beeps flitter the tiny speaker on the bottom half of the box, before cutting out. A moment of silence, and a neutral, artificial voice breaks over the ship.

_“There are two Impostors among us.”_ _  
__  
_________________________________________________________________________

If anyone had dinner that night, Cyan didn’t notice. The tension surrounding the crew is a familiar pressure, one he knows how to navigate. No happy-go-lucky cheering, no obligation to socialize, none of it. It feels great to not have to deal with the gushy behavior anymore, the lack of interaction a heavy weight off his mind. Except the lack of Yellow’s calming aura. 

They haven’t spoken since the meeting, Yellow not even giving him the satisfaction of sparing a glance to make sure he followed them back to Medbay. Brown had directed everyone to wrap up any vital tasks they might’ve had that day; the rest could wait.

Nothing in Medbay is urgent.

They sit in the discomfort, friction clogging his mind every time Cyan thinks of something to say. Anything. What is there to say? The follow up of death is never an easy transition, usually to the benefit of the enemy. So by that logic, this usually becomes another playing card in his deck of tricks. It’s not. Not this time. 

The book and art supplies lay untouched on the empty cot, the fluorescent flickering above is earth shattering in the nothingness. Yellow isn’t doing anything either. Occasionally they reach for a tool, or shuffle some documents around, maybe picking up a pen to make a note before dropping the implement on the table. It’s an unproductive two hours. Not surprising, since most of that time is past lights out. 

“It sucks that we have to deal with this shit again,” Cyan stopped counting the rivets in the ground to stare at Yellow, their back being his wall to talk to. “They told me you’ve had to deal with Impostors for a while now- the agents. I’ve had some run-ins myself, but it just gets more and more frequent with each mission.” a click of a booted heel.

“I guess it’s safe to ask- you seem like someone who’d have a good opinion on the matter,” the hairs on his neck prick up, the source to rationalize the feeling, he cannot pinpoint. Perhaps it’s the way Yellow spins their words while they, too, spin around to face him. “What do you think of Impostors?”

Cyan is certain the years of discipline and training are the only thing that keeps him calm and collected as he grinds his abdominal jaw, hidden by the layers that make him. He mimics a pose of thought, legs and arms crossed.

“I know they’re a volatile species of alien life that goes out of their way to threaten humanity.” Short, sweet, to the point. 10 points. 

“What do you _think_ of Impostors, not what do you _know_.” 

He doesn’t know what to say. Philosophy isn’t a point of interest for the Impostor, especially about his own species. It’s plain and simple; if something is threatening them then their kind will do whatever it takes for the sake of survival, and that means making sure the leeches of the Milky Way leaves his kind alone. 

Yellow swivels their hunched form back to the main table. “Sorry, that might’ve been inappropriate after today’s events. Marginally political, depending on who you ask.” they tuck away a few folders. “It’s late, we should duck in.” 

The pair pass through to the corridor of small rooms, all but three doors locked. Yellow pauses at the door that didn’t belong to either of them, Green’s room. They both peer in from the hallway; knick knacks scatter the area, a few old wrappers, and a tin can robot lay on his table, half assembled. Yellow reaches into the room, hitting the lock switch, retracting their arm before it gets caught in the automatic door. 

When they get to Yellow’s quarters, all they did was stare ahead, and Cyan copies them. Silence. The lull of the Skeld is shadowed by Yellow’s breathing. They tap their card to the lock pad, revealing their own darkened, quiet room.

“Thank you,” Yellow faces him. “I’m the only one here with protection. If someone asked, I’d say I’d gladly give you away to someone like Blue or Orange, protect the younger crew instead, it’s my duty to say something heroic like that. But, in my heart I know that's a lie. I’ve seen ships nearly turn into phantoms in space, we’ve seen this carnage,” they back up into their room. “Thank you, try to get some sleep, ok?”

______________________________________________________________________

_The Lime figure stands before you, the empty suit limp in the air with it’s top-heavy visor tilted to the ground. You step forward, curious as to how this thing could be standing with no supports above nor below._

_“Is this the road you’ve decided to take?” the suit wriggles, it’s movement sickening. The head of a knife lurches through the front of it’s chest, red leaking down silently, doing nothing to distort the voice as it points a finger at you. “I threw my life away to protect yours, and this is how you decide to repay me?” the arm falls to the side, nothing stopping the way it limply swings around._

_“You may have the gift of my skeleton in your closet, but how many more will you choose to bring to me?”_

  
  


They manage to somehow suppress the scream when awakening in the darkness. The sheets are soaked in sweat, skin too cold despite how hot the room is. A glance at the small red clock reads 05:34, three hours too early. Yellow wipes their face, flopping back down to the bed. They knew they wouldn’t sleep well anyways, a good time to throw in the towel. And the sheets into the wash.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sleep well :)


	8. Gathering

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Silence can be so uncomfortable.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> no CW for this chapter that I could think of! *dances*

The exceptional levels of anxiety filling the Skeld isn’t unfamiliar, the collective silence and distrustful stares amongst everyone a tool to weave more fear. That fear could last as long as the mission, or carry on in them for the rest of their lives, not trusting anyone after seeing how easily deceitful an Impostor can be. This is progress for his kind, but in this moment it feels like taking a hundred steps back for his own interactions with his charge. 

It shouldn’t matter; the days passing only brings him closer to his next mission, and he can return to what he knows. Depending on how long he’s on Polus, he might even be able to set up future Impostors for success if he can mess with their colony enough. 

Maybe it’s the boredom of not even getting a chance to screw with the minds of the other crewmates, being stuck in Medbay most of the time, or that the extended silence is starting to get to him. Maybe it has to do with the fact that Yellow has been asking fewer and fewer questions every day since Green’s death. 

No one else spoke to him either. Occasionally Blue looked like she wanted to say something, stopping herself or would get dragged away by Brown to do a task. Orange never went out of his way to talk to him before, and knowing there’s two dangerous aliens on board, it seemed to have shut him in further. Red would make some kind of playful remark in passing, but Cyan didn’t care to play along. 

_"There are two Impostors among us."_

The computerized voice echoes through the ship once again. Ever since Orange turned the device on, it's been going off at random intervals, reminding everyone over and over of the looming threat. Orange kept trying to fix it, eventually just turning the whole machine off, but within hours it would turn itself back on and blare again.

Yellow smacks their helmet on the table in annoyance, a steady breath escaping the human. For the past hour they’d been dealing with delicate samples of some kind, with thin glass vials and temperamental chemicals. The repeating message didn’t alarm them anymore, but Yellow’s steady hands would squeeze too hard on the pipet and splash some chemicals, or drop a sample, and they’d have to start over. 

Cyan’s sitting across from them as usual, paper pad and pen in hand, picture book propped up on one of the beds. He hasn’t been able to focus on recreating the fennec fox staring back at him; every time he’d start he’d just get drawn back to the growing frustration emanating from Yellow. 

“That’s it, I need a break,” they stand abruptly, nearly knocking over a vial and undoing all the work they’ve completed so far. They check their tablet, the machine chirping as they open the map to see their new tasks, Green’s redistributed by the ship's task manager. “Let’s go do gas.”

The trip to Storage is uneventful, and as the duo pass through the hall with Electrical, they see Red and Orange just rounding out to go north to Cafe. As the pair pass by the machine, it’s message resounds again. None of the crewmates say anything, Orange giving the others a weak wave before leaving with Red. 

With each trip to refill the engines, Cyan looks up at the new device on the wall. When Yellow wasn’t looking, he would take a few steps in front of it, trying to see if he could somehow trigger it. Both times the machine gave nothing but a blink of lights.

______________________________________________________________________

“I thought about your question, from a few days ago,” his voice breaks the ever present silence of Medbay, Yellow pausing from activating a heating element before them, “about what I think of Impostors.” They turn to him, crossing their arms.

“And?” they ask. He waits a moment, observing.

“I think they’re an intelligent species that knows exactly what they’re doing. They’re not mindless creatures, and we don’t know their motives, and we haven’t exactly tried communicating with them directly. Maybe they have no motive and are just doing this for fun,” he says, “That’s what I think,” Yellow doesn’t say anything, just a slow nod. “I’m curious to think what _you_ think.”

Yellow doesn’t break- what he can only assume is- eye contact, their foot bounce as they come up with an answer.

“I think they’re a fascinating kind,” they start. “You’re right in that they’re intelligent. They’re able to mimic us perfectly, an ability that, as far as we know, are unheard of, and they strategize. We’ve seen all sorts of life in the Milky Way, but nothing with such a complex biological system. I think they’d be… interesting to learn about,” they nod again, ‘Yea, that’s what I think.” 

Cyan doesn’t really know how to react to their words. There's something small in him, microscopic, that feels a ping of what it might feel like to be complimented. _Interesting_ , they called him. Well, his kind. He stomps out the spark, he needs to know more. 

“Ok then, Mx. Biologist, what do _you know_ about Impostors?” 

Yellow freezes up, and he swallows that familiar scent of anxiety as it soaks his senses again. Their silence is heavy, and with the rhythm of their foot, they speak again. 

“We don’t know a whole lot about them, and as a person of science it’s embarrassing, honestly,” they attempt to massage their shoulder through the thick material of their suit. “It shouldn’t be. We can’t know everything, but I can’t help but be frustrated that we haven’t managed to learn anything from them. Hell, they’ve been attacking us for years, and we haven’t even been able to have a discussion with them, let alone get some kind of sample from them? It’s a bad look,” the rock of their heel switches to them slowly swiveling left and right.  
  
“Everyone panics when they figure out who an Impostor is, throwing them out into space or tossing them somewhere equally deadly, and, considering how dangerous Impostors are, I don’t blame them. I might not agree with that course of action, but I can understand,” they empathize. “And from what I’ve heard, they’re not necessarily easy to restrain. They’re shapeshifters, for lack of a better term, and I hypothesize that they’re similar in structure to that of an octopus, maybe a little cat-like, even.” Cyan remembers seeing a picture of a domestic house cat in the book; does he feel insulted right now?

“An octopus can fit through any space that's larger than the one hard part of their body, their beak, and they’re damn near impossible to catch in the wild when they don’t wanna be messed with. Cats have a similar function. Although full of bones, if it's wider than their face, they can get through it,” as Yellow rambles, he can’t help but not be bothered by it. This is the most they’ve said to him in forever, and the break from listening to and doing nothing is a huge relief. “We could try sedating one, but we have no clue what their biochemical makeup is. For all we know, whatever sedates us would only beef them up, or make them burst into flames. Knowing our luck it would be something stupid like that.” they continue to swivel, helmet turning away before snapping back to him, "Also there's uuuh..." they turn around to jot down a quick note before getting distracted by an item on the table. Half a minute passes before they turn back and finish that thought, "uuh a possibility that there's more than just one type of Impostor out there. Could be dozens, hundreds of Impostor kinds out there. Hell, Earth has several hundred species of sea slugs, who's to say that it's not the same?" 

They adjust a latch on their suit, “Ah, sorry, I could go on about this forever. I just hate not having answers to a question that should be so easy to obtain, yet here we are.” 

Cyan imitates Yellow’s body language, crossing his arms and legs, making a noise of understanding. The question that’s been itching at the back of his head for weeks becomes intolerable. He’s never been good at handling ambiguity, ironically, and just wants to know. 

“I’m curious, about you,” Cyan starts, “you’re a biologist, but that’s a bit of a vague title. What is it that you do, exactly?” 

Yellow stops fidgeting, sucking in a sharp breath, perhaps too quickly. They tense, spinning back around to their work, releasing whatever energy they’re balling up. 

“Do you remember what that executive back at HQ said? It’d be best if you heed his words. The less you know, the better.” 

Cyan grinds his teeth- all of them. He’s always thought of himself as patient, playing the waiting game well, but now he’s starting to doubt himself. He’s taken another step backwards, the two not speaking again, even when it’s time for lights out.

______________________________________________________________________

The nightmares are getting more frequent, much to the Yellow’s disappointment, as they shoot up from bed, heartbeat racing and hands clammy. It’s not even 2AM, and they already know it’ll be another restless night. No point fighting it. 

Yellow doesn’t bother putting on their suit before leaving the bunk, hugging themselves in their pajamas before heading into the Cafe. At this point they don’t care that they’re breaking a million rules right now, the tiny room triggering some level of claustrophobia in the limber human. 

They stare out the thick glass of Cafe, more light coming from the dots of planets and stars than the lowlights that are barely illuminated for the ship’s night cycle. 

“I’m sure you’re aware you’re breaking a multitude of rules right now.” 

Yellow suppresses a scream, spinning around to find Cyan standing only two feet behind them, statue-still as ever. He’s dressed in his suit, helmet tucked away under his arm, face clad in his black mask. 

“You scared the shit outta me, again.” Yellow ignores his point. 

“We’re not supposed to be alone with a threat lurking around,” he says, “and I don’t want to be blamed if something happens to you.” 

Yellow doesn’t say anything, embarrassment dusting their cheeks. He’s right, but Yellow never forgot the rules, they just want a moment of peace. The two survey each other, and Cyan’s black eyes wander down to their bare arms for a beat before flickering back to meet Yellow’s. They gulp under the intense gaze, suddenly feeling cornered to the glass behind them, his body hasn’t moved a millimeter since he first spoke. 

“You have tattoos.” 

The immediate topic change threw Yellow. They look down at their own arm, as if forgotten about the art decorating both limbs. 

“Oh, yea, I got these forever ago. It took a couple sessions, but it was worth it.” 

Cyan hums, circles under his eyes deep. He must be tired, Yellow thinks. 

He doesn’t say anything else, but makes no move to coax them back to bed. Instead, Yellow steps aside, turning around to admire the display of stars once more. 

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it,” they pitch, not bothering to look away, the glass reflecting the pair. “Blue’s right, I don’t see how this view could ever get old.” 

Neither speak for a long time, the metal ship occasionally clanking as it adjusts in the chaotic vacuum of space. 

“Sorry, about earlier,” they start, “about my answer to your question. It seemed a little, uh, threatening, I guess. Coulda been more casual about it, but I’m a bit protective of my personal life like that. So, sorry.” 

Cyan turns his head to them, then looks back out. 

“Don’t worry about it.” 

Yellow turns to him, eyes flickering to the curls cascading the side of his face, a lack of hair tie holding any of it back. 

“You should let me braid that at some point, I could make it look pretty cool.” 

Cyan snaps his head back, and if Yellow didn’t know any better, he might’ve looked offended. His eyes are hard on them, sighing and breaking away. 

“Maybe.” 

That was good enough for Yellow. The air feels lighter, both spending forever observing the universe before them. 

Cyan pretended to look at the stars, instead observing the way the random pattern of black swirls snake around up Yellow’s arms, disappearing past the short sleeves of their sleep shirt. He wants to know just how far up those markings go. It feels inappropriate to ask, so he doesn’t. 


	9. I Stood at the Bottom

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> self indulgent? maybe is it riddled w/flaws bc im drunk? probably 
> 
> but im slightly tipsy and just wanna pump out this chapter so i can start working on the next one, so :shrugemoji:
> 
> only cw's i can come up with this chapter might be possessiveness, discussion of politics/morality, but otherwise not much

Time on the Skeld is running on out.

Only two weeks until they reach Polus at this rate, and there’s no way the crew’ll allow themselves to dock the planet when it’s been confirmed there are two Impostors on board. 

Cyan didn’t think this would be an issue; how the hell was he to know MIRA decided to test out some new security measures? He could rat out his partner, but without evidence he’d be outing himself as well. Even if Red is gone, he’d have to finagle his way into convincing the rest of the crew it isn’t him. Someone else to push suspicion onto, make them all believe that crewmate’s a violent alien outsider. Picking the blamee rattles his brain further. Orange seems like the easiest target; being the one to last be seen with Green _and_ finding his body? Yeah, a rookie Impostor mistake indeed, though Cyan thinks it’ll be hard to get the three to agree with him. 

_“There are two Impostors among us.”_

Yes, alarm, he’s very much aware.

Cyan feels cornered, and the humans don’t have to do so much as flick a switch on a stupid machine. Ironic, really.

“I hate to bring this up again, but,” Yellow pulls Cyan from his thoughts, the pen in his grip unmoving for who knows how long, “I just can’t stop thinking about them. Impostors, I mean.” 

They kept coming up in their conversations, his kind. He’d avoid it as much as possible, or attempt to steer the conversations to a different direction. Besides making him… unsettled… it’d typically leave one or the both of them in a foul mood. Obviously the more he spoke about it the more likely he’d slip up, and if Yellow got wound up over it it was either from disagreeing with Cyan, or Yellow’s uncanny scientific desire to have an answer to anything that sparked their interest. Even when trying to redirect the topic, they’d always find some roundabout to bring it back to the original question. It’s infuriating how good Yellow is at doing that. Maybe even admirable.

“They’re intelligent, obviously, but I just can’t see their motive to attack us,” they prep the samples machine, watching as the vials get filled up with some fluids that’s been stored in one of the freezer units, “we haven’t even figured out what planet they’re from, if they’re even from a planet at all. I don't wanna believe Impostors are doing this entirely for fun. At least, I hope not.” 

Cyan crossed his limbs, a position he had long copied from his charge; it’s surprisingly comfortable, regardless of his emotions in that moment. 

“Maybe they feel threatened.” Cyan half lied. Yellow turns back to him, not necessarily looking at him, but generally facing him while they prepare some petri dishes and a pipette. 

“But why? We don’t even know their location.”

He shrugs, “Maybe they’ve caught wind of the kind of damage humans can do. We basically left our planet in tatters.” 

Yellow hesitates, then drops some trash into a chute, not looking at him while they watch the sample’s timer countdown, “You know we didn’t choose to do that. We were just kids for god's sake, didn’t even get a chance to understand anything before we got sent out here,” they look at him, “We’re not our parent’s choices,” a pause. “They should at least try to communicate with us before killing.” 

He feels part of his face twitch, “Well maybe MIRA should be happy with the colonies we’ve got. We have dozens of planets colonized, what's the point of reaching another corner of the galaxy?”

He almost wanted to see the look they were giving him, it would be a new expression he could catalog.

“But isn’t that the whole point? To see what we can with the time we’ve got? We haven’t even left the Milky Way yet!” they express, a tinge of hope in their voice, but the frustration is clear. Discovery is important to Yellow, to the whole human race it seems. Cyan can’t have that, not with what they’ve already done.

“Then I guess we should stop. Clearly we can’t communicate properly with a whole other species within our own galaxy, let alone whatever else is out there.” he should stop. He’s pushing it, he can feel it, “We should be stopping this, whatever it is. MIRA’s getting a little too cozy pushing it’s boundaries. We should hold back, maybe even reduce the colonies,” 

“It’s wrong what we’ve done, don’t you think? Don’t you want to stop what MIRA’s done already?”

Yellow, who’d turned to gather the sample anomaly, whips around in their chair, frustration seeping even through their suit, “And you think you can best it?” a squeak from the plastic gripped in their hand is a crack in the tension. “You and I both know we can’t escape the machine when you’re the oil in it’s gears.”

A sweet spot has been hit, telling by the scent of frustration that curls around Cyan’s senses. It might’ve been savorable, if it wasn’t for the tension it created. The gross part of him wanted to push it further, make that scent stronger, even if whatever he said Cyan didn’t actually agree with. 

Yellow returns to the sample machine, huffing in frustration. Cyan can tell they wanna say something more, but he’ll take his little victories when possible.

“We shouldn’t talk like that anyways, don’t wanna get in trouble…” they mutter before becoming absorbed in the task.

Cyan feels his chest heave in a silent chuckle, deciding to go back to attempt another drawing of an Earth organism. After a few minutes of turning pages, he decides to randomly stop on one, taking in the image and-

-immediately throwing the book to the ground, Cyan launches up from his seat, backing away against the wall faster than he’s been capable of, he thinks. He must’ve made some kind of sound, since Yellow spins around just as fast, helmet darting around in every direction to find a threat. 

“What? Huh? What’s wrong? What’s going on?” Yellow asks. One of Cyan’s hearts must've been up in his throat, he swears.

Eventually they both eye the book lying face down on the metal grated ground, all unassuming. Yellow rolls forward in their chair, bending down to lift the article, peering at the open page. The room is silent, Cyan’s ears ringing, Yellow not speaking. Forever passes and-

They start to laugh.

Yellow’s laughing, uncontrolled and erratic, clutching their stomach and barely able to keep the book in their grip as they keel over in a fit of laughter. Cyan’s face feels… feels on fire. He hasn’t felt his body go through this kind of thermal response since he took on a humanoid form. 

“You-” Yellow struggles, “you got scared-” they lift up the book to face him, the page the same as he left it, “you got scared by a picture of a snake! And not just any snake,” they try to point, but they wheeze too hard to make it, “You got spooked by a garter snake!” 

The reptilian’s picture comes into focus, the stress unwinding from his fake spine when the not-threat is realized. Cyan has no idea what a garter snake specifically is, or why it’s funny such a creature scared him, but it didn’t stop the heat in his face from building. He’s grateful for the helmet; he has no clue if the color on his face betrays him or not.

“I-” Cyan tries to defend, “I- was caught off guard.” he prays his voice is level.

Yellow’s laughter doesn’t seem to slow down, “Big scary Mr. Cyan got scared by an itty bitty garter snake!” slowly they approach the bed closest to him, managing to set it down while hunched over, “Thanks for making my day, holy crap.” Yellow’s giggles never really stop for the next few hours, Cyan trying his best to ignore it by burying his visor in one of the reading books they’d lent him. As much as being mocked by a human bothered him, the little noises Yellow made erupted something in him every time. The noise only stopped when a new ping from their tablet signaled the pair to head to Reactor to make a repair.

______________________________________________________________________

Yellow’s giggle-fit ended, eventually. It’s hard to stay humored when your face is stuffed in a panel of electrical parts that you don’t totally understand.

Why this task never got reassigned to Blue or Orange, Yellow’d never know. They’re smart, but electronics aren’t exactly their strong point. Sure, they could patch up an electrical panel no sweat, but this was getting to be a bit much. Numbers swirled across the screen in a pattern Yellow doesn’t recognize, the pattern of squares lighting up in a rhythm that didn’t match up with the digits, and every failed attempt at lining up the item. Cyan had offered to help, but was denied. They can do this, this isn’t the first time they’ve had to fix a Skeld’s Reactor parts. It was getting a bit humiliating with how long this is taking; they could even tell that Cyan wasn’t boring holes into their back anymore. If it was in any other situation, the lack of attention would be a relief, but Impostors aren’t a force to be reckoned with, Yellow knew. Even without past expeditions going awry, the thought of being nearly eaten whole was enough to keep Yellow on their toes. 

Finally the numbers and squares made a pattern that Yellow knew! They tapped away at the device, finally receiving the positive ding of completion from the tablet. 

“Alright, now that that’s done-” they close the panel and rise, “-maybe we can swing around and finish up those samples before-” 

No wonder Yellow didn’t sense Cyan’s gaze; he’s completely turned away from them, standing tall in a defensive stance; legs as wide as his broad shoulders, arms crossed, staring starch straight at the couple standing in the doorway to the Reactor. 

There stands Red, leaning casually against the doorway. Orange is behind him, towered by the other’s stature, but also doesn’t make much of an effort to make himself known besides a small wave, hands quickly busying themselves with one another with nothing better to do. 

“Hey,” Red offers casually, “just checkin’ in on everyone, making sure everyone’s doing alright,'' his helmet jerks towards Cyan, “wanted to see if you guys needed any help. You know, teaming up on anything.” 

Team up? Before Yellow can manage a response, Cyan steps further into Yellow’s view of the other crewmates, not changing any of his body language, “No, we’re good here,” his voice rumbles in the cave of the Reactor, “I think it’d be best if we’re on our way, right Yellow?” 

They don’t even get to agree before being hoisted up by the bicep, barely able to check off the task on their tablet in time to be whisked away back to Medbay. Even after making distance from that part of the ship, Cyan made the effort to lock the Medbay doors before sitting down. His irritation is obvious, though Yellow isn’t sure if Cyan’s the kind of person to give a shit if that’s noticeable or not. 

“What was that all about?” Yellow asks. Cyan’s suit creaks as he grips the materiel on his arms tighter, slightly slouching into the seat of his chair.

“...” it takes a moment, “I don’t trust that guy,” his helmet turns to them, “and you shouldn’t either.” 

It’s not a suggestion. Yellow hums in response, not knowing else how to take that advice. They’d never talked to Red before shit hit the fan, so it wasn’t like they knew much about each other, but the less Yellow had to socialize the better. Survival and lack of social confrontation; a win-win scenario in their book.

Yellow can tell that Cyan can’t relax after their encounter with the others not even an hour ago. His foot is hopping at a rapid pace, not bothering to pick up any of the books they’d gifted him, and he’s not even looking up. Despite doing nothing, it’s the most animated the bright crewmate has ever seen their bodyguard. 

“You ok?” they offer. Cyan snaps out of his movements only to be solidified under Yellow’s look, and that doesn’t really feel like an improvement. The pair contemplate the silence. It doesn’t seem right, to talk suspicions on a crewmate that hasn’t done anything to them yet, but gossip lingers as Yellow tries to come up with something. Anything. 

“What do you miss about Earth?” 

It’s an innocent question, and yet it does little to soothe Cyan’s nerves. 

It’s just another thing he has to lie about, another cover up. Cyan bites his human tongue enough to make it bleed, an effort to ground an answer. It's already been a few seconds since they spoke, he can’t wait much longer now.

“Not much, really, “ he says. “It helps that I don’t remember much about it.” ok so, not a complete lie. 

Yellow nod is slow, thoughtful. They hum, turning their helmet away. It snaps back to him. 

“Wait, I thought we’re both part of the Last Generation,” they start, “could’ve sworn we’re in the same age group… how old are you again?”

For the upteinth time this day cycle, Cyan’s brain freezes. He doesn’t actually know how old he is in human terms. What does his profile say again?  
  
“I’m 33.” Cyan produces, the silence almost too sharp. 

“Ah ok, makes sense,” Yellow offers, “you’re probably too young to remember much of Earth then. Sorry, if that brought up bad memories.” 

It didn’t, but the escape from further questioning was enough for him. Yellow is reengrossed in whatever is on their microscope slide. 

The alarm blares again, ignored by the crewmates in Medbay.

______________________________________________________________________

It’s long after lights out for the night, but Cyan is still bored to high hell. If he could sleep longer than two hours at a time he would, but it’s just not how he’s built. The panels in his ceiling have been counted and named, and he just can’t stay still for much longer. It frustrates him to no end that most of these ships don’t come with some kind of fitness centre, even if most of it would be below his level, it would be better than nothing. Perusing the ship is the only option. Thank god there aren’t any camera’s in Cafe, he thinks, otherwise he’d probably lose it from not being able to stretch out a little bit.

He never even gets to Cafe, however. Two voices whisper in the large room, stopping Cyan in his tracks. The curly haired crewmate presses his back flush to the corridor to Cafe, barely peeking an eye over to scan for whoever’s occupying the room. 

He spies Brown and Blue. The two are facing each other, somehow both not facing his way. It takes a moment to adjust his fine hearing, but eventually he’s able to make out the mumbles through the hum of the ship.

… “-scared…” it’s Blue’s voice he picks up first. 

“I know, I am too.” the smooth vibrato belongs to Brown. Cyan tilts his head just a smidgen farther, and that’s when he stops, not sure how to react to what lays before him.

Blue and Brown are impossibly close to one another. Both are next to Cafe’s large window, but have seated themselves on the closest table, legs intertwined. 

“What if we… don’t make it…” Blue’s voice is weak, clearly on the verge of tears. Brown’s gloved hand cups Blue’s cheek, wiping away a tear before if can slide down her face. 

“We will, I know we will,” Brown leans her face closer to Blue’s, the tears now flowing faster than Brown can keep up with, “and even if we don’t, I know I don’t wanna live with any regrets.”

Brown presses her lips against Blues, slow and careful, calculating every inch of space she takes up to make Blue comfortable. Blue’s eyes flutter closed, barely pressing back. Her hand meets the one cupping her face, tracing the surface with her thumb as they sit together in silence. 

Something in Cyan clenches in a way he’s never known. It hurts, so bad, but can’t bring himself to vocalize it. Can't even name it. He pushes himself away from the wall, walking past the doors he knows are full before retreating to his own room. 

As he sits exposed on his bed, his face twitches, fingers tracing his own lips in an attempt to recreate what he just saw.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh? is that all Cyan? ;)c


	10. Makeshift Gauge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's only a matter of time, and it's eating Yellow alive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW in the very beginning for nightmares, insects, pet death, and guilt. after the italics, I can't really think of any other TWs! Unless you're triggered negatively by cuteness ;P 
> 
> I apologize for the delay, btw! I normally post tuesday/wensday, but lost track of time! also bc i've been avoiding this, especially since I've uh, never written something like this before. i was also suppose to include another major event in this chapter, but between it and what's written here, I felt like it would be too much for reader and writer alike. BUT depending on how people react to this chapter, i'll whip it up and post it a day or two from now ;P 
> 
> enjoy!

_ The praying mantis struggles to support it’s own weight in your impossibly tiny hands, it’s body shuttering in every attempt to rise, your body shaking with each sob.  _

_ You found the insect stuck to the screen door during the last frost before spring, and, fearing for it’s safety, your father helped you put it in the spare fish tank, filled with rocks, twigs and leaves, any fun flowers you came across as they bloomed. _

_ It was meant to be a mother, having laid an empty egg sack on the foliage. _

_ It’s only a few months from now that your family is meant to live in space.  _

_ Tears stream down your face as the mantis loses strength with each try. Dad is trying to comfort you, telling you that this is part of life.  _

_ It’s not fair. You should’ve done something. You could fix this, right? You’ll find a way. You have to find a way. Even if it means- _

Yellow can’t help the sudden shallow breath, body trembling and tears threatening to fall any second. They glance at the digital clock- not even midnight.

“This is stupid…” 

There’s nothing to engage with in the tiny cell. No window to see the galaxy crawl by. It feels like an eternity to them, trying to fall back asleep, but if they even bother to close their eyes, it wouldn’t really matter, would it? 

They huff in defeat, sitting up and grabbing their specks from the table, hunched over slightly while staring at their hands, the black curl of their tattoos stopping just below both thumbs. Yellow didn’t know what kind of answer they’re hoping to find in the ink, and, unsurprisingly, it doesn’t provide one. 

It’s getting to be too much. There’s only been one death, much less than previous missions, but without a second body and no one to blame for the first, it’s only a matter of time. The analyst in them tries to categorize which crewmate would upset them the least, should they get torn apart like Green, nausea making their head roll for even entertaining the idea.

“What the fuck is wrong with me?” an empty question. 

They slide off the bed, giving up. They shove off the embarrassment, gathering their blanket and pillow, the case of it incredibly soft. One of the few personal belongings they bring on every mission. 

Slipping out of the room, Yellow tip toes down the hall, not that it matters. The steel doors of the bunks are almost sound proof. They pause at Brown’s door, debating if knocking on her door would be the safer option. It probably is, but they find their feet moving along the corridor, stopping at the second to last door. A deep breath, and they knock.

Cyan’s door slides open, eyes already meeting Yellow’s as if he could see through the metal. He’s dressed in the standard night attire, maskless, curly hair down and slightly frizzy from the long day. 

They are both silent. The lines under Yellow’s eyes seem deeper to Cyan, their calculating gaze seems dull and distant, not really communicating much but exhaustion.

“Sorry I… can’t sleep,” they clutch the bundle in their arms a tad closer, “don’t wanna be alone right now, doesn’t feel safe.”   


“Our rooms are secure.” 

Yellow frowns, “We don’t know how strong Impostors are, for all we know these walls are tissue paper to them.” 

The shift in his black eyes is minuet, the behavior not providing Yellow any relief. Eventually Cyan nods slowly, moving aside to let them into the dim room, door hissing shut after them. It’s identical to everyone else’s, really, but they can’t help their eyes darting around the new environment. His bed is neatly made, seemingly untouched, and a fiction book open on the tiny desk. Perhaps Cyan’s having trouble sleeping as well? 

He sits back at the desk, but not before handing Yellow a black silk eye mask, “Here.”

It would be easy to read without the lights on, but he has a feeling that would be creepy by human standards, sitting awake in a dark room while another sleeps. 

He can’t read the emotion on his charge’s face as they accept the article, the corners of their mouth turning downward a fraction. 

“Are you not going to sleep?” they ask.

“Maybe later, not tired enough to sleep on the floor quite yet.”

They don’t say retort, turning to adjust the spread of the single bed. They fold up his blanket, setting both it and his pillow at the foot, ready for whenever Cyan decides to sleep. He’d never take it, simply make it a mess on the floor for Yellow to find to convince them he slept at all. Eventually Yellow sets their glasses on the side table, eye mask pulled down, mumbling a “goodnight” after resting their head. 

* * *

Hours pass, the book in his hands going mostly unread. He continues to track Yellow’s breathing and subtle shuffles, never falling asleep. They seem to get close a few times, but then their breath would shutter them back to square one. 

Yellow gives up after a time, rising and ripping the mask from their eyes, staring down at their fists in defeat. Cyan looks from the neglected pages, Yellow not moving to meet him. 

“Still can’t sleep?” 

They don’t answer for a time, downcast eyes staying in place.

“Lay with me, please.” 

Clearly the sleep deprivation is getting to them, he thinks. It must be, the absurdity of the request causing him to nearly crunch the book in half under his grip. 

“You realize how many protocols are being breached by even having you in here,” Cyan deflects, “I don’t think tacking on people’s suspicions of fraternization is a good idea.” 

They sigh in frustration.

"I just..." Yellow's heavy gaze meets his own for the smallest of moments before fading away, "I don't wanna die without being held one more time."

He doesn’t… know how to respond to that. He’s heard about this ritual before, but doesn’t know of it’s intricacies or purpose. Can’t know what you’re missing if you’ve never done it. He feels something bubble up his throat, but tightens his jaw, not trusting that the sound coming out would be words. 

“You don’t have to, obviously,” they start, “it’s just a request.”   
  
Cyan  _ swears _ the oxygen supplying the room’s been cut off, the air feeling way too stagnant to be normal. 

“I, uh,” he thinks of how to phrase it, “don’t exactly know how too.” 

Yellow looks at him in disbelief, “I’m gonna be honest with you,” they start, “that’s the saddest shit I’ve ever heard,” they scoot over as best they can, grabbing the materials at the end of the bed, “Come on.”

Every nerve in his body is screaming at him to stop moving as he sets down the book, head reeling. He can feel his knees lock, struggling to cross the small area while impeded. Cyan awkwardly climbs onto the tiny bed, reaching behind to flick the lights off. His body is practically falling off the surface, doing his best to keep distance from the human in his space. Whether it’s to protect them or himself, he can’t tell. Yellow pulls both blankets over them, and immediately he can feel the human’s bodyheat building under the fabric. It’s a temperature he hasn’t felt in a long time, his body moving on it’s own, seeking it out. When Cyan flanks Yellow’s back, pressing against his chest, the human shivers, and he has to suppress his own reaction. 

“Nova, you’re freezing,” Yellow gasps, “Here,” they reach behind, hand fumbling around to eventually find his forearm, grip firm, movement slow. His skin feels on fire as they pull his arm around around their body, settling it against the fabric over their stomach. He’s desperate to pull his arm from their hold, to stop the burn, only for Yellow to press their back closer to him, body wriggling to find a prime position. This is the first skin-to-skin contact he’s ever made with a human that wasn’t, well, killing them. Cyan feels his abdominal jaw crunching against itself, threatening to split wide open any second. It takes everything to prevent it, can’t tell if his tendrils will wrap them up or pierce their spine. He doesn’t want to find out. 

Yellow exhales a satisfied sigh, the tension melting away, even though it’s a slow process. 

He can feel and hear their heartbeat, can smell their authentic scent not filtered through the plastics of their spacesuit. This is too much, all too much. He should’ve declined more firmly, not even toy the idea of such an activity. To entertain it was the first mistake. Or maybe it was letting them into his room. Or maybe it was accepting the notepads and books they offered him. His mind is racing, trying to pinpoint the exact moment that he could’ve stopped this from ever happening, not that it mattered if he finds it. 

It’s been more hours now, he realizes, snapping out of the spiral of thoughts clogging his mind. Yellow’s breathing is the slowest it’s been all night, heartbeat a smooth rhythm. Cyan’s legs feel like lead, having been fused together and parallel with the bed this entire time. No matter how hard his brain yells, they don’t move from their spot. He feels like a board from the unnatural position. Before he can muster the strength to choose an action, one of Yellow’s legs shift, a foot finding it’s way to wrap around one of his ankles, breaking them free from their spell, and manages to tangle it in between their own limbs. 

There’s no way he can slip away now, despite his inhuman flexibility. All these senses overwhelm him, too sweet to pass up, and Cyan’s feeling greedy. The back of Yellow’s head is all he can really see, dark locks organized into the typical long braid, mostly pulled over to their front to protect it. He thinks back to the couple he just witnessed in the cafeteria, can’t get the image out of his head. Slowly, he presses his face to the back of their head, lips pressed above the beginnings of the braid. The strands are impossibly soft on his skin, choosing to stay for a minute before pulling back in shame. 

_That was selfish_ , he thinks too late. It seemed invasive to do, even though he wants to do  _ so much more _ . 

The guilt toils around his mind, thinking of ways to rectify it. He’s never felt guilt like this in his life. Not when he’s thrown past partner’s out the airlock, not when he’s blamed innocent people.

Not when they’ve died in his hands. 

He thinks of the only thing to help relieve some of the feeling. He presses his forehead into their hair, taking a deep breath. To calm himself, he pretends.

“Sorry, for doing that,” he whispers, “I don’t know what else to offer you in apology, but,” he swallows, hearts racing, “all I can give you is a name.” 

Doing his best to be as quiet as possible, he whispers his own name into the empty air, saying it over and over again, as if it would do anything to make up for what he’s done. 

Eventually he stops the chant. All he can hear is both of them breathing, and the creaks of the ship. He dedicates the rest of the night memorizing all the little details, doubting this will happen again, trying to make the most of it. There’s no way he could’ve gotten a blink of sleep in this position anyways.

* * *

Like clockwork, Cyan turns his head to the nearby clock, the numbers flicking to the exact hour. It’s about two hours until Red or Blue wake up, and it’d be best to not be seen. Slowly, he untangles himself from the mess of limbs they’ve become, growling in frustration of how cold the ship is. Never noticed til now.

He lays a hand on the human’s shoulder, gently shaking them, “Yellow, wake up.”   


They jump away from him before remembering recent events, “Wha… what time is it?” they slur, rubbing the sleep from their eyes. 

“It’s 6, you need to go back to your own room. Someone might wake up early.” 

Yellow nods, slowly rising. Cyan hands them their glasses, their fingers brushing as they retrieve the pair and slide the frames on. 

Eventually they leave his room, belongings in hand. Cyan needs to take a shower, he thinks. A long, hot one, with plenty of soap. He can tell he reeks of human, and that Yellow stinks of Impostor. He can only hope Yellow will shower before arriving at breakfast. 

He has no idea how Red might react if they don’t. 

**Author's Note:**

> If you got this far, congratulations! I did something right  
> Please let me know what you think at all! Errors to fix, suggestions, thoughts so far, keyboard smash, have at you! All the love!


End file.
